


Panic Room

by bloodvein



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Intense, Season 9 Mentions, Season/Series 12, Slow Burn, mentions of past cases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodvein/pseuds/bloodvein
Summary: One way in, one way out. No weapons. No defenses. All they have is trust in one another.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

The sun had set over the Pacific Ocean three hours ago.

The _Pacific._

He'd never even seen this side of the United States, never mind where they were heading. It was eerie to him – the sun had set behind strange mountains and thick trees but there was still light spreading across the coast.

There were no tall buildings to block his view of the sky. No constant sound of cars and people. There weren't even twenty people on the flight with them. Elliot stared out the window as they began to descend over their new home for the next month.

A month.

Fear crept up his spine. A change of scenery was fine. The circumstances were definitely not _fine._ Three years ago, they had investigated a string of rape and murders. The perp targeted young women, a mix of hair colors, races, and body types. The only thing in common was the way the perp discarded them when they were done. Tape over the mouth, hands behind their backs, clothes shredded. Drowned and washed up on the beach.

The water had washed away any evidence – if there was any in the first place. They had closed in on a couple of suspects but none of them panned out. Before they knew it, the cases grew cold and their perp had seemingly lost interest or stopped altogether. Elliot had never believed either of those scenarios.

People like this never stopped.

It seemed he had been right.

Two days ago, Cragen had pulled Elliot and Olivia into the office.

" _You're being sent out of town to assist with a case." Cragen's expression was serious. He passed them both files as Elliot exchanged a confused look with Olivia. There were no open cases that had any ties out of the city._

_Olivia opened her file first. "I've never even heard of this city before," she said, flipping through the pages. "You're sending us out of the country, Captain?" She looked at him, raising her eyebrows in surprise._

_Don nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "The District Attorney's Office is very interested in apprehending this individual. You two will assist the Royal Canadian Mounted Police up in Canada since you two worked the original case."_

_Elliot looked through the folder. Each of the victims' pictures stared back up at him. There would be no comfort in the long days in front of them until they could bring back the suspect to home turf. "How long?"_

_He knew from how much the man hesitated in his answer that he was being told from higher up that this was the way things would be and he had no choice or say in the matter._

" _A month at most."_

Only a few lights glimmered over the treetops as the small plane circled towards the airport. His stomach dropped momentarily at the sight of water so close to them as they dropped lower and lower towards their destination. He had breathed the salty air before, but he knew here it would be different. Cleaner. Refreshing.

Maybe that's why their perp decided to move his operation from one of the busiest places in the world to a place that held less than two thousand residents. They would be secluded, kept away from the rest of the world.

_The island is different than anything you've experienced, Elliot._ He still hears Munch's voice in his head. Of course Munch had visited, between him and Fin they had both visited nearly all the corners of the world. _The sun never truly sets there._

Vancouver Island. Off the coast of British Columbia was Canada's hidden gem – a small island with towering mountains, ancient old-growth trees, and a climate as mild as you could get there. It was never too hot or too cold. The sun would shine and in the same hour the rain would pour.

_All it does is rain. Take a jacket._

Munch had told him all sorts of facts, showed pictures. None of them were of the specific place they were going to, rather of neighboring cities and more populous areas. He had heard of the place but only knew of how many people flocked there during the summer for surfing and the view of the ocean. There was barely any time over the past 48 hours for him to research where they were heading and he wished there was more time for him to get acquainted with his surroundings. He knew New York pretty well, and his navigation skills had only improved with policing. Now there was no time left for him to see beyond the deep forest and coastal mountains.

Olivia stirred beside him. She had fallen asleep when they had refueled in Portland and after about half an hour, her head lolled to the side and landed on his shoulder. There had been times he had seen her sleeping; in the cribs a few times, once at her place when she had been so sick he stayed to make sure she was settled. Her sleeping on him was uncharted territory. It wasn't as if she had done it on purpose but he had let her stay and rest. From what he could see of her face she looked peaceful. All her defenses were down and she was relaxed.

Slowly he watched her build them back up, her arched brows raising slightly as she drew in a deep breath. She blinked a few times before opening her eyes and returning to her reality. Her head came off of his shoulder and just like that, the contact was gone.

"Sorry," she whispered groggily.

"It's okay," he breathed. "We're almost there."

* * *

The air was warmer outside than he had expected.

They had landed and cleared through customs without any issues. There was a driver waiting for them when they got out of the gates, a sign between his hands that read their last names. He had shaggy hair, no uniform; only a nondescript hoodie and jeans. The man didn't speak much – just welcomed them to the country, gave them keys to the place they were staying at and informed them they would meet their counterpart in the morning. Once they were out at the vehicle, he showed his badge but gave no further explanation.

They both sat in the back of the Tahoe silently. Olivia had given him an unsettled look when they got in and gestured towards the driver. He shrugged. They had no weapons in this country, limited powers, only orders to bring this sick bastard home. He knew that here without their own backup, relying on a completely different department and country to back them up would have Olivia just as uneasy as he was. They would have to be completely in control of this situation and more than anything – Elliot was willing to give his life for Olivia's if it came to that.

_Did you really expect me to cause your death?_

In the dark interior of the car, he glanced over at his partner. There may not be a sniper to save them this time. He inhaled deeply and knew tonight he would pray before bed that they would be safe – that she would be safe.

The drive was relatively short and during this period of near darkness, Elliot couldn't make out any details that stuck out. Their nameless driver pulled off the road and he could see several cottages with numbers on the outside. He stopped outside of a larger unit in the farthest corner of the area they were in. Munch had told him there would probably not be their typical accommodations, but he hadn't expected this.

"This was the most private cabin we could get," The man put the vehicle in park and cut the engine. "We set it up inside the best we could, you'll be working out of here for the majority. This vehicle is for you two to use while you're here." He passed the keys to Elliot and they all got out of the vehicle.

Elliot turned toward their mystery driver. "Do you need a ride?" The man had already begun to walk toward the winding road that led out of the area.

"No," he said as Elliot heard the distinct sound of waves hitting the shoreline. "Got a ride right here." Just as he spoke, another dark SUV came down the road and stopped beside him. He got into the passenger seat and rolled down the window. "Have a good night." Elliot could barely see inside the vehicle, but it was clear it belonged to police; the interior light never turned on when he got in as if they had been modified to only turn on when switched and the windows were heavily tinted.

Once they were inside and situated, Elliot took the room closest to the door while Olivia took the larger bedroom. Between each bedroom was a shared bathroom with a large stand-up shower and soaker tub. He was impressed, he had never been in a place this nice. Quickly, he changed into blue pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. He left the rest of his luggage at the foot of the bed; it would be tomorrow's problem.

The living room was bathed in the warm light from the fireplace and overhead lighting – it was evident that their counterparts had been in the cabin before them. A rolling whiteboard was placed behind the couches and there were a few takeout menus placed on the coffee table in the middle of the room. The kitchen was simple. They would be able to cook and sit down to eat at the dark wood table. It would work for what they were looking to accomplish.

Olivia came into the living space in a long sleeve top that cut into a v right between her breasts. Her legs were bare; only covered by black pajama shorts. Her tanned skin was so smooth his throat became dry. His gaze dragged back up until he saw her dark eyes staring back at him as she crossed her arms over her chest.

_Jesus._

"Goodnight, Elliot."


	2. Chapter 2

The beaches here differed from the ones back home.

On the east coast, there were small shrubs and a bit of grass decorating the edges of the beach. People would be scattered across the sand depending on which beach he was at. Typically, he would see at least twenty people, if not just in passing as he walked along the surf.

Tofino was different. Leading up to the beach were tall trees, greener than he had ever seen before. He had picked up a hand full of sand and let it fall between his fingers and it was softer, lighter than at home. Perhaps the complete lack of people around him was a sign of why the sand was different – so few people disturbed the area. Even so early in the morning in New York there would have been at least one family with him.

He was alone. An hour ago he had woken up to the sound of silence. It was deafening compared to the usual sounds of sirens, cars honking, and general signs of human life. He was careful to be quiet and allow Olivia to continue sleeping on the other side of the cabin. His feet had barely made any sound as he tiptoed into the bathroom to shower. When he had emerged from the steamy room, the only sound he could hear was coming from the soft sigh of his sleeping partner.

Elliot let her rest.

At first, he took in what his surroundings looked like in the daylight. Outside the cabin were dozens of other cabins varying in size. Their cabin was tucked into a small corner, which allowed him to look at the other units while still having their privacy. The resort office was at the top of the road, just a few hundred feet away from the cabin. He noted that he would have to thank their counterpart that they would meet later in the morning for the place.

Eventually, he had wandered out the few steps it took him from the cabin to the beach. The view had been breathtaking. Light spread across the vast expanse of the waterfront, warming the sand under his sneakers. The weather was colder than he was used to for summers in New York. The breeze coming off of the Pacific sent goosebumps across his skin under his grey long sleeve. His jeans were his only salvation – providing a bit of a barrier between him and the unrelenting wind from the water.

The beach didn't just end at the end of the property line of the resort. He had walked far enough to see around the corner to a separate beach which had a few people walking along the tall grass that covered the beginnings of the sand. It seemed endless.

His body had gotten cold enough that he walked back to the resort office and grabbed two coffees. He was surprised at the accommodations they provided, even having a small coffee shop attached to the outside of the office. He wondered if the owners knew the purpose of their trip and that they weren't here for the breathtaking views or the whale watching tours as Munch had suggested; their reasoning was much more gruesome.

The young barista had smirked at him when he fumbled with the Canadian bills that replaced the American currency in his wallet. "This one is a five'r," she spoke quietly as to not draw attention to him and pointed at the blue bill in his hand. She gave him his change and pointed at each coin, still speaking in a low voice. "Two dollars," she pointed to the largest coin. "One dollar," she showed the slightly smaller coin.

"Got it," Elliot smiled down at her.

He walked back to the cabin and pondered if Olivia was awake but got his answer when he approached the door and saw her sitting in the window seat. Her long legs were stretched out across the seat and she matched him – grey shirt and jeans. Except her shirt cut off at the tops of her tanned shoulders and dipped low enough for him to see the supple swell of her breasts over the top of the shirt.

"Didn't think you'd be awake yet," he teased as he walked into the cabin. Elliot sat next to her, her bare feet brushing against his jeans when he leaned toward her and handed her the second coffee. His eyes fell to her mouth when she smiled at him. Her hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves he had never seen on her before and they looked as if she had run her fingers through her wet hair until it had dried. Whatever she did with it; he wanted to feel the locks under his fingertips.

His mind wandered, thinking about how her hair would look fanned out on her pillow as she fell back into the bed and he crawled on top of her…

She ignored his comment. "Thanks for the coffee, El." Olivia immediately took a sip of the coffee, grateful for the gift.

"You should see this place," he explained. "The beach is beautiful."

Olivia nodded at him and curled the coffee cup into her chest, holding onto the warmth. "I took a peek outside when I woke up and saw you down there," she smiled again. "There's a hot tub too."

The tone of her voice made him nervous. Him. Olivia. A hot tub.

This case would be the death of him.

* * *

He wondered how long it would be until Olivia kicked him out.

It was inevitable, the way he was behaving. Not only had he let his eyes fall on the deliciously low hemline of her shirt more than once, but he had turned into a jealous, spiteful bastard as soon as their Canadian counterpart walked in.

"Good morning," the blonde man had been a lot friendlier than their driver last night. "I'm Jacques Bouchard, I'll be working with you two on the case." He carried his own coffee in and Elliot felt bad that he hadn't gotten one for the man, he had completely forgotten about him. He could detect a bit of an accent from Jacques, one that he hadn't heard from the driver or the barista.

Elliot shook his hand hard and sized him up. He was a few inches taller than Elliot was, probably in his early thirties and was broad-shouldered. From the way his white t-shirt stretched over his chest, he assumed that he worked out quite a bit or perhaps spent a great deal of time outside. His forearms were covered in black ink tattoos that made him more dangerous than his friendly face and outgoing demeanor.

Jacques had shaken Olivia's hand and his jaw clenched hard. She took in his physique longer than Elliot enjoyed, her gaze zoning in on his muscular arms and shoulders. A slight blush rose to her cheeks as he crooned her name back to her.

_Christ, Olivia. He's at least ten years younger than you._

He was jealous. There was no relationship between Jacques and Olivia, nothing that would hold them back. No ring on his finger. He took a deep breath in through his nose and narrowed his eyes at her. He could feel the blood beginning to pool in his hands and chest, they were always the first to get hot when he wanted to fight.

Olivia glared at him and he moved to the couch to sit down. She sat next to him on the couch and Jacques took the single chair and moved it to the opposite side of the coffee table to face them both head on. He saw Jacques take in the proximity Olivia was to Elliot, how comfortable they were with being in each other's presence. There was no awkwardness between them after twelve years of partnership. Most of the touches that had happened between them were initiated by her.

He didn't have the strength to stop touching her once he started.

"You two met another officer on the case last night, JS," Jacques said pointedly. He took in their confused expressions and laughed to himself. "JS doesn't talk much when he's trying to read people, I'll tell him to take it easy on you guys next time." He sipped his coffee and laughed again. "I wanted to come and get to know you guys and tell you a bit about what's going on." They both nodded at him but allowed him to continue.

"There are less than two thousand permanent residents that live here. Lots of tourists come through. The main highway access is blocked right now though, the only way in or out is to fly. I couldn't get you weapons, RCMP is strict about it," Elliot took in the apprehensive look that Olivia was giving him. He was worried too – relying on a Mountie for protection.

He hated the thought.

Jacques told him about his time with the RCMP. He and JS – who they now knew stood for Jean-Sebastian and the unpronounceable nature of his name had earned him the shortened nickname – had joined together and ended up as far from their Manitoban hometown as possible. They were both French and he explained that he learned English long after JS had and was teased throughout the police academy for it.

The two of them worked for a smaller subsection of their home unit which investigated major crimes. Most of them are plain-clothed officers and you would never see them in uniform in public. It appeared the RCMP operated very differently from the NYPD, having federal jurisdiction and a larger budget, which explained the cabin they currently sat in.

"How long have you two been partners?" Jacques asked, which made Olivia chuckle quietly. He flashed a sideways look at her.

"Twelve years."

* * *

The day had been grueling.

A ton of information had been passed between the three of them and they had a few working theories as to what kind of person was committing these crimes. Jacques had given both of them Special Constable badges, the Mountie crest carved into the metal felt strange under his fingers. It didn't feel right to him – he missed all the bells and whistles that came with the NYPD. He missed his partner in leather, a gun strapped to her hip, an attitude that scared off most men.

Here she anything but the detective he had always known. They had taken Jacques advice and packed away the leather and tried their best to blend in with the locals. "Don't draw too much attention to yourselves," he had said. "If anyone asks questions, you're not cops and you're not here for a case."

He could sense the fear that was beginning to bubble beneath her surface. There was no control here. Things could go sideways quickly, and they could both fight, but it would only do so much. Earlier when they waited at the entrance of the restaurant, she had stood closer to him than usual. He passed it off as her trying to adjust to the new setting, just as he was.

He sat across the dining table from her now, two glasses of beer perched in front of them. She was more adventurous than he was when it came to food. He settled for steak while she worked away at a small spread of local seafood. The food was different here; there were not a lot of fast and greasy places to eat. The locals prided themselves on eating local food and as people pretending to be locals, they decided on the most crowded restaurant they found on their drive down Main Street.

"Cheers," Elliot raised his beer to her. His eyes dropped to her mouth again as it turned into an amused smirk.

"To what?" She inquired. Her glass raised to meet his with a clink.

He watched her eyes darken as she caught him staring at her lips.

"To a new adventure."

Within a week, their new adventure would change their relationship forever.


	3. Chapter 3

The sea air was chilly but comforting.

She had a sweater and a blanket draped over her but the wind still moved through the open weave. The scent filled her nostrils and it was refreshing; the air didn't chill her so completely as it did in New York. Here the air was peaceful, blowing in calm waves off of the ocean.

Back home it seeped into her bones. On nights that they spent at a crime scene, she didn't know if she would ever warm up. Nothing good ever happened after midnight – and that's when her phone would ring. From the moment the device touched her ear until the case was closed she would be cold.

She knew what it meant.

_Bite me and you're dead._

Something had irrevocably changed in that basement. One of the things that changed was her body temperature dropping on cases. Her body was in fight mode on those nights. Fighting against the fear that had made her tremble for months after.

Counseling helped. The tremors stopped. The lack of sleep. The nightmares if she did sleep. Eventually, she had found a way to open herself back up and allow herself to feel again. It felt good to be able to receive those calls and not feel that prickle of fear drifting up her spine.

The salty air was cathartic. It didn't scare her now.

It had been five days since they arrived in Tofino and they had started a routine in their new environment. Elliot would cook and she did the dishes. Olivia would shower in the morning, he would at night. Every night she would come out to the patio and lean her chair against the hot tub to watch the sunset. He would shower and then join her to watch the sunset on another day on the island.

The first night she assumed it was a one-off. Just a particularly good day that provided a kaleidoscope of colors across the sky as the sun descended. By the third night she knew that there was no coincidence. She wondered if perhaps it looked different in any other season except summer. Maybe the clouds covered everything and the sun solemnly sank behind the mountains during winter and she would never see it.

Tonight there were no clouds. Only pinks and light blues accompanied the setting sun.

"Liv," Elliot called out as he stepped out onto the patio. He walked to his seat beside her, passing her a beer to her along the way. After a shower his scent always lingered near her; soap and his aftershave. She wanted to lean into him, to fill her lungs with the smell of him.

"Thanks," she mumbled, shaking the thoughts from her mind.

* * *

He was reaching his boiling point.

She saw it in the way the vein in his neck pulsed against his skin. She heard it in the ferocity in which he opened the fridge for a beer. She felt it in the way he seethed beside her as he flipped through the files over and over, looking for something to jump out at him.

Nothing ever did.

It had been three days since they last watched the sunset. Every night since they had been too busy – two bodies had been dumped in as many days and they were no closer to finding a lead or any connection between New York and Tofino. Nothing was plausible. The victims had no connections other than the two communities they resided in. The ages varied wildly.

Yet their perp seemed to be taunting them, leaving the bodies in places that were considered high traffic for Tofino.

Elliot sat next to her on the couch and took a swig from his beer. She watched him over the file in her hand while he placed the bottle back down on the coffee table harder than he had obviously expected. He grunted something under his breath too low for her to hear.

"Hey," Olivia closed her file and placed it beside her. She touched his forearm, attempting to provide some sort of comfort to him. "We'll get there…" Her voice trailed off as he stilled, looking out of the corner of his eye at her hand on him.

His eyes dragged up to hers slowly. Olivia's heart thudded hard against her chest; she could feel the impact of his gaze on her. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she began to pull away from him, thinking that she had only further pushed him towards fury. She gasped when he grabbed her wrist, his large palm easily wrapping around her.

Elliot moved slowly. It was barely noticeable at first. The shift of his weight was so slight and she knew what was coming but her mind was suddenly blank. Unable to process any thoughts, she watched as her partner of twelve years closed in on her and captured her mouth with his. Just as quickly as his mouth was on hers it was gone – he pulled back to look at her momentarily before kissing her again. This time he kissed her harder, releasing her wrist in order to tangle his hands in her hair.

Olivia was dizzy. She felt out of control. There was no salvation for her in this moment. His mouth was on her, his tongue prying her lips apart as he took from her what they had been fighting for so long. For too fucking long.

She gave into him then. Her mouth moved against his in a frenzy, her tongue tasting the beer on his tongue and taste of him. Her hands memorized his skin and skimmed along the vein in his neck. He moaned into her and parted the kiss, shifting his mouth down her cheek and to her neck.

His chest knocked into hers and pushed her backward until she was lying underneath him on the couch, her legs folded around the hard muscles of his legs. Elliot's hand teased along the edge of her sweater, his fingers brushing up towards her breast. His hips ground into hers, her jeans pressing into her now aching core.

"Elliot," she moaned, her own hips rising to meet his. She needed to relieve the pressure, needed to feel the relief of him inside of her, and the steady heat that would rise through her belly and explode as she climaxed. She needed all of it.

His stubble was rough at the base of her neck while he suckled and dragged his teeth over her sensitive skin. His hard length hit against her center relentlessly. "Don't stop," she gasped, and he squeezed her ass, pulling her further into him.

On the coffee table, Elliot's phone started ringing loudly.

He stilled on top of her.

In an instant, Olivia was out from underneath him and running to the bathroom. She barely heard him greet whoever was calling as she slammed the door and locked it behind her. Her mind raced trying to piece together what the fuck had just happened out there on the couch and she couldn't find an answer.

Her fingers gripped the smooth surface of the sink. She couldn't look at herself. Not yet. She didn't know if she'd ever sleep again seeing herself after having kissed her partner. The feeling of his mouth was so fresh, she swore she could still feel him there on her neck, between her legs...

_Fuck._

Her breaths were coming in quick pants. How could she have lost sight so easily?

She was safe. She was.

The door was locked. She was free to feel everything that was coming barrelling towards her. Therapy had taught her to create a safe space when she felt her fear and anxiety beginning to wash over her. Keeping track of her breaths, she closed her eyes and pictured the sunset again. The colors dancing across the sky, the sea breeze enveloped around her.

Olivia counted back from ten. When she hit one, she wouldn't need her makeshift panic room anymore. She would breathe. She would be okay. They would be okay.

_Nine._

His lips on hers.

_Eight._

His stubble scraping her face.

_Seven._

His hard cock grinding on her.

_Six._

Elliot's hand palming her ass.

_Five._

The sound of his moans.

_Four._

The ache between her legs.

_Three._

The feeling that this wouldn't be the last time they gave into need.

_Two._

The dark look in his eyes in those moments before he kissed her for the first time.

_One._

She opened her eyes and raised her head, assessing herself in the mirror. Her lips parted as she looked at who she had become. Her mouth was bright pink and slightly swollen, her hair was tangled and messy. Her neck had a spatter of blotches from where his mouth had touched her.

"Liv," he said lowly from the other side of the door. "Another body has been found."


	4. Chapter 4

The ride was all too quiet.

She had come out of the bathroom and taken in the look of him. His reddened chest, the rumpled t-shirt was crooked and out of place from their time on the couch. His pink mouth, the anguish in his eyes. She mirrored his look back to him.

The full effect had hit her then. It was safer back in her panic room – she didn't have to think about his pain or the consequences of the moment they had shared. She only thought of the feelings that had come from that specific moment, not all the ones after.

The guilt hung heavy between them. They had fucked up big time and there was no going back. No forgetting the feeling of his mouth on hers. No forgetting that he had made the first move. That she had let it happen. That she had let her hands fall all over him, squeezing and pulling at his skin. Begging him to escalate what they had already taken too far.

_Elliot. Don't stop._

Her own words burned her.

"I'll grab my coat," she had mumbled, stepping around him and lifting her coat from the dining room chair. She pulled it over her shoulders and reached under the collar, freeing her hair from the coat. The cabin air hit her raw neck and she bit her lip at the reminder of his lips having been on her skin.

"Liv," he started.

"Don't," she warned him. "It was…" _A mistake._ "We can't let it happen again."

He drove. Of course, he did. She was too jittery, too wired, and nervous. They had fucked up and now another body had dropped. Not only had they irrevocably screwed up their partnership, but their killer also seemed to be escalating.

Three bodies in three days. A disgusting, impressive record. The locals were nervous now. Luckily no one had put in the press about hers and Elliot's presence in the area. They clung to their anonymity; it would be their only saving grace in this hellish case.

Tears threatened to brim over her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. She looked anywhere but in his direction. The roof of the car was good, it helped the tears dissipate. Olivia quickly wiped a hand down her face; she didn't want to be a red mess when they pulled up to the scene. Taking a deep breath, she resolved this would be the last time she would think about it until they had put the case behind them.

There wasn't much truth behind her words.

* * *

The crime scene was brutal.

Against the beautiful shores of the west coast, a young woman had been discarded in the same manner as all of the other victims. Her arms were bound behind her back, tape over the mouth.

A white tent had been set up to create some cover over the body, but the unrelenting rain and wind ripped through the thin material. Olivia shoved her hands in the pockets of her soaked raincoat. She had long given up on trying to push away the hair from her face and just allowed the wet strands to stick to her neck. The RCMP medical examiner worked over the body and spoke quickly in French to Jacques.

Elliot stayed close to Olivia inside the tent, but she stepped closer to Jacques, trying to piece together what they were saying. She glanced at him from the side of her eye – a warning.

_Now wasn't the time to have a pissing match._

"Sorry," Jacques said, turning his attention back to them. "It seems like our guy. Everything matches, froth around the nostrils and mouth. She'll know more after the autopsy, but it was likely she was dumped no more than two hours ago." Olivia crouched beside the body and brushed the woman's hair out of her lifeless face. Her eyes stared back up at her, unmoving.

"She doesn't look very old," Olivia remarked, noting the youthful features of her face. The material of the entrance to the tent flapped again in the wind, and Olivia heard a horrified scream from outside the tent. She looked to Jacques and then Elliot, standing up and walking around the body and exited the tent.

An older woman Olivia could only assume was her mother wailed in the arms of a young man, about the same age as their victim at the edge of the crime scene. She blew a deep breath through her nose and walked with Elliot towards the yellow tape. They spoke with the woman who they came to know as the mother of the victim, Alice, and the victim's twin brother, Tyler. Their victim was Theresa Edwards, a twenty-year-old local. She had gone out to eat at a restaurant the night before but never made it home. Olivia bit back the guilt that she should've prevented it somehow and pushed herself to be there for the grieving family.

_She shouldn't have been on the couch about to fuck her partner._

_She should have done something._

_Kept working the case, instead of working her lips against Elliot's._

There wasn't much left at the crime scene, the thick layers of rain sheeting over them would serve as a protection for the perp, effectively washing away much of the evidence and any sign of the murderer's entrance and exit from the area. Olivia scanned the crowd of about thirty people for anyone who stuck out or looked as though they didn't belong.

"Guy at the back with the blue hat on," Olivia turned away from the crowd as she spoke to Elliot. "He was at the last crime scene too." The three of them turned and started walking towards their target. Jacques raised yellow tape and the subject of their observation turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction.

"Police! Stop running!" Jacques shouted to no avail. They all started running; Olivia following him head on, Jacques immediately headed west along the shore and Elliot flanked right, hoping to cut him off.

The man ran up to the road and crossed over, snapping twigs and branches as he descended into the forest. Olivia pushed herself harder and pumped her legs, forcing her body to speed up. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming in short pants. Dodging large trees and slapping her feet against the soft forest floor, she closed in on the perp and nearly had him in her grasp. Elliot came in from the right but was still too behind, Jacques kept to the road beside the forest in hopes he would turn that way.

Her vision hollowed onto her subject and she swung her arm out to grab him but missed. She listened to the sound of metal scraping and saw him turn around suddenly, but she was too late. A knife appeared in her distorted vision and he grunted while she moved to push the blade to the side. He was quick and pushed forward, the knife slicing through her coat and cutting into her shoulder. She dropped her arm immediately.

_Fuck._

She kicked wildly at him, catching his knee with her foot on the second try.

Footsteps were coming closer.

The perp slipped from her weak, one-handed grasp and ran further into the forest, his feet frantically hitting the ground with each step. Olivia fell to the ground, clutching her injured shoulder. Hot liquid began to coat her fingers and she knew it was blood. Her hearing faded slightly as she looked down at the wound. She focused on the pain, zoning in on it and allowing it to expand.

She needed to know how bad it truly was instead of pushing it all away.

About three inches long. Not deep enough for stitches. Deep enough to hurt. Deep enough to bleed. She groaned as she touched the sensitive skin around the wound, trying to feel if it was longer than she could see. Elliot was beside her then and she realized that he had been calling her name for some time now, she just couldn't process it.

"Go grab him, I'll take care of her." He ordered Jacques, and he did as instructed; running after the perp into the deep woods. Her adrenaline coursed through her veins and she kept pressure on the wound, feeling her pulse pounding through her ripped jacket.

"It's not that bad," Olivia assured him.

Elliot was quiet while he kneeled beside her, swiping her hand away from the wound.

When he did talk, his voice was ragged.

"I'll have to take you back to the cabin."

* * *

He wasn't sure how he'd managed to drive all the way back to the cabin without veering off the road.

His eyes darted to her shoulder once every five seconds.

He couldn't _breathe._

She was calm. Too fucking calm for what had just occurred. Of course she was – Olivia was always too calm, too careful, too calculated. He needed to break down that barrier, crash through that door. He needed to see her on the other side. With no veiled conversations, no assumptions, no half-truths and straight up lies.

_We can't let it happen again._

He was a selfish bastard. A selfish, cheating bastard. At least he let himself feel it. Grieve the marriage he already knew was dead in the water. Olivia had already saved his marriage more times than he could count.

He needed to let it die. He needed to pull the plug.

He had kissed her. That moment was seared into his mind forever. But she had reacted to him, let him cover her body with his on the couch. She had ground her hips upwards, she had moaned his name into his ear. They were both equally fucked.

There was no escape from the island. No way out until they had closed this case. Despite the fresh, unpolluted sea air, Elliot felt suffocated. He could no longer blame the country, the landscape, the fucking isolation – it was fate that had brought them here, shoved them in a cabin away from the world. It was something bigger than him or her that allowed them to be alone with each other.

Only nine days had passed since they had traveled here. Nine days it took him to break down and kiss her. Of course, it had only taken him ten seconds to realize he was completely fucked. That first night when she had come out of her room in those shorts, he had prayed for salvation. For forgiveness. The second he saw her long, bare legs, it was over for him.

He had dug through his suitcase to find the first aid kit he had brought with him and stood with the red bag in his hand. From the kitchen, he heard her swear.

Olivia stood between the couch and the kitchen, roughly tugging at the zipper of her raincoat. Her brows were knitted together in frustration as she pulled repeatedly to no avail.

"Here," his voice was quiet, he doesn't know if it's because he's a little amused at her inability to take off a simple jacket, or that he doesn't trust his voice right now. Her hair is stuck to her neck in random places, her skin is blotchy. He tosses the first aid kit onto the table behind her and takes the zipper with two hands, easily untangling it from the material it had been caught in.

"Thanks," she whispered back. His eyes stay on hers as he pushed the jacket over her good shoulder, and then slowly over her bad one. Her expression didn't change when the jacket slipped from her arms and into his hands. Olivia slowly backed up until her thighs hit the kitchen table and she sat down on it, anticipating his next move.

Elliot draped her jacket on the closest chair and picked up the first aid kit. His eyes moved to her cut and then back to her face. She seemed to be content watching him, as if it were the thing she was clinging to in order to hold herself together.

Maybe it was.

"You scared me today," he found himself whispering. He pulled open the first aid kit and opened a rubbing alcohol wipe. She only slightly nodded in response, biting into her lip. Elliot looked at the cut again and gently grabbed the material of her black shirt, pushing it down over her shoulder in order to give him better access to her wound. Her breathing only hitched momentarily when he pulled her bra strap down with it, laying it over top of her shirt.

Olivia watched him work diligently at her shoulder. He would catch her eye every so often when he picked up a new tool or package. She had done this for him on numerous occasions, his penchant for fighting always seemed to land him seated in front of her just how she was now, receiving medical treatment from the person he trusted most.

The intimacy of the moment branded him.

He was lost to her completely then, body and soul.

* * *

The first couple of times she heard the noise, she figured it was just in her dream.

The panicked tone of his voice pulled her back to consciousness.

On the fourth time, she sat up in bed, ignoring the screaming pain in her bandaged shoulder. She quickly padded out of her room and to his door, dropping her head to listen.

"No," he sobbed. She waited for sounds she knew would come. The second her name left his mouth, she opened the door. He was on the left side of the bed and she could see a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. His bare chest rose and fell quickly, she could tell just from the labored breathing that he was in the middle of a nightmare.

"El," she coaxed, sitting on the bed next to him. He didn't wake. A quiet cry broke through his lips and she closed her eyes, the pain tearing at her. She reached for him blindly and found his bicep. Her fingers squeezed lightly before he inhaled deeply and regained his consciousness.

He blinked at her a few times and rubbed his eyes. Olivia's hand fell away from him and she appraised his expression – the confusion, grogginess, pain.

"You were having a nightmare," she whispered into the dark. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he croaked automatically.

"Don't lie to me."

"It was today…" He scrubbed a hand down his damp face. His eyes rose to hers. "But worse." He looked away from her then, focusing on the edge of the comforter.

_But worse._

"I'm here," she whispered. Elliot nodded, flattening the cover over his chest. His eyes slipped closed and she listened as his breathing began to even out and after several minutes, he fell back asleep.

Carefully, she lowered herself to the pillow and laid beside him. She quietly watched her partner sleep until eventually, she slipped into peaceful sleep. In the morning he would see her like this, but for now, they slept.

Outside the cabin, a man laughed bitterly and walked away.

_They'll pay._


	5. Chapter 5

The sun gradually made its way through the bedroom before landing on him.

It woke him slowly; the warmth and brightness bringing him out of a restful, languid sleep. His eyes slip open as he inhaled deeply. Elliot's arm was tucked behind his head and he stared up at the ceiling, absorbing the feeling of himself regaining consciousness.

He blinked a few more times and drew in another long breath. His head lolled to the side and he looked toward the window, but something caught his eye. Olivia laid beside him, curled into the comforter. A mess of dark brown hair splayed out across the pillow beneath her head, her lips slightly parted as she exhaled.

His heart quickened at the sight of her in his bed.

The hours before suddenly came back to him in a rush. His dream, her waking him up, his exhaustion pulling him back into slumber. She must have stayed to make sure he didn't have another nightmare and ended up falling asleep. He can't piece together how the past ten days have changed their relationship, how he had royally fucked up by kissing her. How she was now in his bed, the strap of her pajama top has fallen off of her injured shoulder, her long legs tangled in the sheets.

If his marriage hadn't already been dead, it surely died the second his mouth touched hers. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. There was no going back from it. How could he? How could explain to his wife that Olivia had slept in his bed, no one would ever believe that he hadn't touched her. She had skirted around the question before, gently prying and wondering if maybe, just once that he had slipped up.

But he never had until two nights prior. The thought had been burned into his mind for twelve years. What would she taste like? Was her skin as smooth as it looked? His fingers itched to touch her again. He had messed everything up and he still wanted more. All of his repressed feelings from their entire partnership had come crashing through the surface and he couldn't take his mind off of it.

One taste of Olivia and he was ruined.

He pulled his arm from behind his head and sat up gently, careful not to disturb her. She probably didn't realize that she had fallen asleep in his bed and he didn't want to wake her. A voice in his head told him to let her sleep, she needed the rest after her incident yesterday.

There was no saving her in those moments. He closed his eyes and pushed away from the image of her fighting off the perp, the flash of his knife. It brought back too many painful memories of Gitano and how he had slashed her, just like the man in the forest did. Maybe he was a shitty partner for letting this happen to her twice. But he wasn't capable of giving her up.

Elliot brought his hand up to her cheek and lightly pulled a loose piece of hair away from her face. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, letting his knuckles graze over her cheekbone and down her jaw. The movement was featherlight and she didn't stir at all.

Even sleeping, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But she didn't belong to him. No, Olivia could never belong to anyone. She was a leading light – he was grateful that she had put up with him for so long. If he were to be so lucky as to have her the way he wanted, it would be on her terms. She set the rules and he played by them.

He turned away from her a slipped from the bed, padding softly towards the bathroom. The door clicked closed behind him and he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His facial hair had started to grow in and he fought the urge to shave it. Nearly every man he came across on the west coast was sporting some form of facial hair and he needed to fit in. Part of that was looking less buttoned-up than he usually did back in New York.

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth thinking about how Olivia will tease him about it. He remembered a couple of days ago when he had come out of the shower and still had yet to shave – how her eyebrow had raised at the sight of the scruff on his face. She had looked away to hide her amusement and he let it slide.

His morning routine went by quietly, and he walked from the bathroom to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The silence of the forest surrounding the cabin had thrown him off the first few days after they'd arrived in Tofino, but he eventually found solace in it. The old growth trees would creak from the force of the wind during the night as he laid in bed and it soothed him. He had wanted to take Olivia out on a trail to see more of the trees he had seen in one of the pamphlets that Jacques left for them, but later that night she had gotten injured.

When he was sprinting through the forest trying to catch up to their perp, he had dodged at darted around massive tree trunks and fallen branches. He had no time to look at them, to admire their beauty, and be grounded in the notion that something this breathtaking remained untouched by humans. The Canadians had left the forest alone, knowing that destroying such beauty would have irrevocable damage on their landscape.

New York was the complete opposite.

Elliot cracked half a dozen eggs into the pan. His appetite had only increased since they had arrived on the island, there was something about the amount of time he was spending with Olivia that made him insatiable on all fronts. On a slow morning like this, he would typically go for a run or workout in the gym. Today, he felt compelled to stay close to her. He didn't want her to feel panicked when she woke up and wonder where he had gone, so he stayed.

"Good morning," he murmured, hearing her soft footsteps coming into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder to the table where she had taken a seat, pulling up one of her knees into her chest. She hugged her leg with her good arm and pressed her cheek into her knee. Her eyes landed on him and lingered on his bare chest before moving to his eyes.

"Morning."

* * *

She was considerably more fucked than she had been two days ago.

There was no fight left in her anymore. For twelve years she had fought tooth and nail against the pull of Elliot and the palpable desire she had to be with him.

_He's married,_ she'd say. _It's never going to happen,_ she'd assert.

_I'm Elliot. This is my wife, Olivia._

She fell into step with him too easily during those moments, played the role of his loving wife a little too well. The number of times people had mistaken them as a couple or outright accused them of having an affair wasn't lost on her. She was well aware of it and each time she denied their relationship, it chipped a little more at her resolve.

When he had kissed her, the walls she had built to protect herself – to protect him – had started to crack and crumble. With each pass of his mouth on her skin, she could start to see clearly through to the other side through the missing pieces. He scorched her with his touch.

It was worse than Gitano this time. They hadn't been working on the case when the body dropped. He had been on top of her, making up for lost time as her tongue tasted his. They had no real leads and she had allowed his frustrations to boil over. Instead of steering him away from her, she let him fall into her and take their minds off of the entire case for a few stolen moments.

The guilt was nearly swallowing her whole.

Olivia stood in front of the whiteboard and taped the pictures of all their known victims' side by side. She was trying to create a visual timeline for all of the murders and drop-offs; anything that could drive their case forward.

Elliot had called Jacques for an update on their end of the case. The man who had slashed her was in custody but his alibi for all of the murders was airtight, having worked in the local soup kitchen for years and never straying from his usual schedule.

" _Apparently, the guy just isn't a fan of police and wasn't interested in talking." Elliot had said after he hung up from the phone call. "Could've said that before he pulled out that knife."_

She had rolled her eyes and shook her head. It fucking figures that she was slashed by an individual that wasn't even their perp.

Olivia had just finished taping the last image onto the whiteboard when Jacques knocked at the cabin door. The sun was beginning to set over the Pacific as she opened the door. The colors of the clouds created a silhouette over his tall frame and she wordlessly stepped aside, allowing him into the living room.

"Hey," his accent was thick as he smiled down at her and placed a bottle on the kitchen table. Jacques held up a black rain jacket for her to look at. "Our detachment Chief bought you this, said to tell you she's sorry about what happened yesterday." She could feel Elliot's eyes on her while she smiled back at Jacques. The jacket was substantially nicer than the one that had been ruined by the knife – and she surmised it must have been purchased locally for the constant rain and wind of the west coast. It was a smooth, water-resistant material; something that would have put up more of a fight than her old jacket.

"Thank you, you didn't have to though," she assured. A small blush crept up Jacques cheeks and Olivia folded the jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "What's this?" She gestured to the dark bottle on the table.

Jacques picked up the bottle and spun it around. "Forty Creek Canadian Whiskey," he read from the label. "My version of an apology." They laughed quietly and Olivia took three small glasses from the cupboard, placing them on the table.

"Come have a drink, El."

* * *

He respected Jacques as a person.

He did.

But as the man who had felt Olivia's mouth on his, who felt ten shades of possessiveness over his partner – he wanted to punch Jacques in the face.

He could see the attraction Olivia felt for the man. Young, fit, and foreign; he could see why Olivia's eyes lingered over his shoulders, his square jaw. Jacques seemed comfortable around her. They spoke animatedly about funny things that have happened on the job, comparing countries and cases. Their relationship was easy and fresh – no trepidation or complications.

No wife holding him back.

Elliot sat across from Olivia and Jacques; a move that had made his eyebrows raise. Usually, he sat beside her, and now he had to watch her, turned toward the younger man. They had been drinking for a couple of hours, they had gone through the case and received a full update. The man who had attacked Olivia was still in custody, but they had ruled him out as a suspect and there were still no leads.

Jacques was telling Olivia about his time in the military before he joined the RCMP and she listened intently to his words. "I joined when I was 18 and was deployed to Bosnia in the '90s," he explained, sipping at his glass of whiskey. "I fell in love with this girl over there, Sophia. She was a clerk." Elliot watched as Olivia heard the tone of his voice change, lowering with emotion. "We got to go out sometimes, and one night we were walking just outside of the base when a man came out of nowhere and stabbed us both," Jacques dropped his head and sighed. He turned his head to look at Olivia. "She died right there, a few hundred feet away from the base hospital. I lost my spleen," he leaned back in his chair, lifting up his shirt.

"It wasn't your fault," Olivia whispered, reaching out to touch the scar under his ribs. His stomach clenched as she dragged her index finger along the raised skin. Elliot bitterly swallowed back the contents of his glass in one gulp and looked away from them.

_Breathe._

He couldn't.

He couldn't hear anything while he poured himself another glass of the dark liquor. He didn't bother with ice this time and let the burn of alcohol coat his throat. For the rest of the night, he barely spoke, only adding a few grunts to whatever Olivia was saying. The urge to be violent was raising within him but he kept quiet. No sudden movements. He clung to every single microaggression he threw at her during the evening.

She had to know how that would affect him.

Flirting with Jacques. Touching him. Sitting with him. Acting like she was his partner.

Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to keep his silence a moment longer, Jacques had bid them goodnight and disappeared into the darkness. He had assured Olivia he didn't live far away, and besides that, no cabs operated at this time of night. Elliot finished the remainder of his glass and set it in the sink. The alcohol made him feel warm all over, and his anger, his jealousy made him feel too fucking warm.

He was drowning in the ache of needing her and the bitter rage he felt towards her.

"Elliot."

"Don't," he snapped, harsher than he had intended to sound. He turned around at the sink to look at her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the dark cardigan she had on made her look delicate. She had pulled it off of her injured shoulder, having shed the original bandage in order to let the wound breathe.

"No, you don't." She frowned at him, pursing her lips. "I'm trying to make our time here easier by creating a connection with our handler, and I can't concentrate on anything when you keep looking at me like that." Olivia angrily ran a hand down her face and rolled her eyes, turning her back on him.

He narrowed his eyes at her and stepped closer. "Like what?" His voice was so close to her had scared her and he watched her jump and turn back to him.

"Like that," she gestured to Elliot.

"Do you think I want to look at you?" He challenged, knocking into her as he stepped closer again. His face was mere inches from hers while he spoke. "I have a wife, but all I can see is you."

A long moment passes between them before she opened her mouth to speak.

"What?" She choked, almost inaudibly. He realized that until that moment, he had never allowed himself to so bold with her.

He could see then that she was just as scared as he was. Elliot closed the distance and captured her mouth with his. His hands cupped her face and he held her there, running his tongue along her lips. It had been two days since he had last kissed her, and he couldn't believe he had survived the past 48 hours without another taste of her.

Olivia opened her mouth to him, and he touched his tongue to hers. There was no saving him from his fate as the liquor on her tongue melded with his. She placed her hands on his chest and felt the skin beneath his shirt, then pushed him away.

"Elliot," she panted, looking from his mouth to his eyes.

"I know," he sighed and rubbed his thumbs along her jaw. "I'm not going to kiss you again until you ask." She held his wrists and slowly pulled them away from her face.

"Okay."

For the second time since they had arrived in Canada, Olivia slipped away from him.


	6. Chapter 6

When he dies, every moment in his existence will be raindrops in the bucket of a long life.

But the moment he was in would slow down, draw out, and stretch across the painting of his memories on earth. Each fragment of his life has led to this one. Every case they had ever solved together, every fight and _screw you_ and _screw you too_ has set them on a path to this beach.

She had woken this morning earlier than usual. He knew she wasn't much of a morning person back home and that seemed to carry through to Canada. The cop in her was able to make herself look presentable, bring coffees for their stakeouts, and smile. Deep down, he knew she enjoyed letting herself catch up on the sleep she was missing in New York. There were no blaring horns or sirens in Tofino. Only silence piled upon the gentle sounds of the forest that surrounded the cabin and the occasional wildlife that came near.

_Let's go see the beach before Jacques arrives,_ she had told him.

It became a welcome distraction. Too much time in the cabin with her, smelling her scent in his sheets, hearing her light footsteps going in and out of the bathroom were all too much for him. Each footstep that didn't come meet him in his bedroom only made him ache for her more.

But he had placed the ball firmly in her court.

If she wanted him, she would have to come and seek him out. It had been two more nights since he had kissed her. Four nights since the first time. He trusted her intrinsically. No doubt in his mind that the time would come and she would ask. Knowing Olivia, she would need the timing to be perfect.

The unfortunate thing was, their relationship had been filled with awful timings and circumstances. The masochistic part of his mind craved these moments with her. At least if he was feeling anguish, he was feeling something – at least he was spending time with her. He always came back for more. He could never quit something, someone so divine, so perfectly imperfect. She was a balance of things he could never be.

The early morning sky was scattered with unpretentious clouds that faded into nothingness past the Douglas Fir trees that lined the inlet. They walked along the sand together and Elliot's hands were shoved in the pockets of his jeans to protect the exposed skin from the wind that came from the ocean. The weather was warm for July, but the sea had proven unforgiving, and thus they hid their hands and he bid farewell to the temptation to reach for Olivia's hand.

" _Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life."_

It wasn't often these days that anything to do with his Catholicism ran through his head, let alone Bible verses. Today he needed strength to pull himself through, to allow himself to continue on this case with Olivia and see it through to the end. He wouldn't be able to leave her here on his own, no matter what was happening at home.

They were both there in Canada or not at all.

No in-between.

He had lied awake two nights ago after kissing Olivia again, too guilty to pray, too turned on to call his wife. The last he had spoken to Kathy was morning before he had kissed his partner. They had only talked to one another briefly before Eli had demanded the phone, asking all kinds of questions about where he was, what he had been doing, when he was coming home. When he had finished listening to the young boy babble about a new friend he made at the park, his wife only had a few words to say to him.

_Take care of yourself and Olivia._

Her tone hadn't sounded overly sad or angry, but rather apathetic. It's what he deserved. He had loved Kathy for a long time, but after a while the love had transformed into friendship and a stunted companionship. She was his wife, the mother of his children. But his heart didn't race when she entered the room. The room didn't alter and shift when she stepped into it. She didn't drive him insane with rage and jealousy at the prospect of another man touching her.

At some point, Kathy had figured it out before he even did.

_You talk to Olivia about it?_

The simplicity of her question had struck him off guard all those years ago. He hadn't realized until that moment that his relationship with Olivia had evolved and his wife asking him if he had talked to his partner about a difficult case had forced the thought down his throat. Even all those years ago, when the love he held for his wife was still somewhat romantic – Olivia had been there. Her essence had laid between him and Kathy in their bed, pushing them apart. She didn't even need to be physically in the room for him to feel her there.

His _partner._

He had long passed it off as feeling protective. She was a few years younger than him and less experienced in the beginning of their partnership. Men and women they had dealt with over the years had always vocalized their attraction to her and he found himself feeling impulsive and possessive.

_Kurt Moss. Dean Porter. Jacques._

He would lay awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling, wondering where she was – was she with one of them? Were they touching her? He couldn't let himself picture the actions, instead he absolved himself of the anger by imagining himself getting to scream at them, punch them, hurt them if they had ever laid a finger on her.

"Could you hold these?" Olivia broke the silence, holding out her flip flops for him to hold. He had no time to object, limply holding onto her shoes as she rolled up her dark blue leggings to the middle of her calf, then pulled up the sleeves of her hoodie.

"What are you doing?"

"We've been here for two weeks and I haven't even put my feet in the Pacific Ocean." She called to him and he watched helplessly as Olivia turned back toward the water and trekked forward. Her feet left wet impressions in the sand with each step she took and he laughed at the ridiculous excitement he had seen on her face when she shoved the flip flops into his hands. It was such a contrast to the calculated, guarded woman he had known for all these years. She was never afraid to have fun, but it always came back to work, to the city – to them.

Olivia walked confidently into the surf and stood for a moment. He expected her to turn and run from the water he half-expected to be cold, but she stayed, looking out at the vast ocean. Without a second thought, he shed his sandals and held them between his fingers along with Olivia's and strode out to meet her. Once the wave came in and touched his feet, he saw her deception in the heavily amused look in her eye. She had turned around and grinned widely at him as he gasped at the chilling temperature of the water.

"Fuck-" he exclaimed, and in the same moment, she had bent over and scooped a handful of water at him. Elliot stiffened at the contact of frigid seawater on his face and neck and looked down at her, feeling his eyes narrow and darken at her. She laughed wickedly and turned away again, exploding into a sprint away from him.

He had no time to marvel at her beautiful mouth or the small crinkle around the corners of her excited eyes; too intent on his revenge for her playful deceit. His leg swung back and he kicked hard, sending a small wave of saltwater over her and down her back. Water droplets soaked rapidly through her grey hoodie just as the water had penetrated the bottoms of his jeans.

"Elliot!"

There was shock and mock anger playing at her features while he exited the ocean and caught up to her in the sand. Their laughter quieted eventually, and Elliot glanced down at his hands, shifting his shoes and holding her flip flops out for her to take back. The inside of his palm brushed against hers as she grabbed the sandals from his hand. His eyes raised to her face and he stifled a gasp.

The wind had caught the loose hairs from her ponytail, whipping them delicately around her features. Her face was bare – she hadn't put any makeup on this morning and instead let him see her so vulnerable and open. There were only rare occasions he had ever seen her with such little makeup on, usually, she had on at least a bit of eyeliner or mascara.

Today she had nothing on and he wanted nothing more than to run his fingertips over the edges of her face and over the small lines under her eyes, down to her full lips. He was close to her now and felt the wind flick her hair against his face with every few gusts. The undulating waves came and vanished a few feet from them, the froth of the surf bubbling and popping quietly beside them. The sound of the ocean narrowed and hollowed out, then left completely as his senses honed in solely on Olivia.

"El," she whispered to him. "You've got sand on your face." Her hand reached for him and her thumb brushed on his cheek, wiping away the granules on his face. Elliot closed his eyes unconsciously, her touch jarring him deeply. She began to pull her hand away but his hand closed around her wrist and held her against his cheek. For a few moments they stayed still, feeling her soft hand on his skin had wiped himself clean of every thought that had formed previously about his relationship with her. He could feel her gentle pulse beneath her skin and he wanted to press his lips to her wrist, to pull her in and claim her mouth again.

But he couldn't.

His eyes popped open to her. "Ask me, Olivia."

Confusion marked her face. "Ask you what?" Her hand slipped from his and she retracted herself from his proximity. He felt her heat leave him and immediately wanted her back in his grasp.

Elliot stepped closer and he watched her as her internal panic set in, and looked over his shoulder at something behind them, her eyes darting anywhere but on his face. He needed her to look at him, to understand what he was saying, to do anything. His heart pounded loudly in his chest while he waited for the realization to hit her and slowly she looked back to him, her eyes looking somber and slightly wide with fear. "Ask me to-"

She interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

"There's a man watching us from the road."


	7. Chapter 7

He had felt helpless on the beach earlier and the feeling had begun to seem all too familiar.

The man had watched them for who knows how long, only to turn and walk away when he noticed both of them looking in his direction. There had been a small pit in his stomach for the past few days that told him perhaps the island and the forest kept many more secrets than he had originally thought. The thick brush and sweeping greenery that surrounded their cabin and the immediate area would have provided the perfect cover for someone to watch them. Elliot wanted to chase the man and demand answers but he was far enough away, he easily disappeared into a line of hazy summer heat that blurred the street close to the shoreline.

He'd have to be even more vigilant than he had been since their arrival. There were minimal protections for them here. He had no gun. Olivia didn't have hers. They had separately gone undercover without their weaponry a handful of times and he truly couldn't place a time where it had gone right instead of horribly wrong.

Olivia sat opposite him at the kitchen table drinking coffee. She was flipping through a file for the fifth time that morning, rereading a single page over and over again. He wondered if her mind drifted when they were alone like this; maybe she was distracted with thoughts of how close they had been just a couple of hours ago. His guard had been lowered so severely by their separation from Manhattan and the isolation that the island provided. They were safe from the outside world here, but Tofino still held horrors that they had yet to solve.

Sometime between slow mornings and watching the wind dance in her hair, Elliot had felt himself giving over to the slow tempo and unhurried nature of the west coast. He craved the salty air and the vision of her tanned skin, her smile.

_Ask me, Olivia._

He had made a fool of himself on that beach – throwing himself at her in such a desperate, needy way. It was only after the man had turned and walked away from the shore that she had left his side silently and began the journey back to the cabin and his throat had tightened.

The last time he cried was three and a half years ago.

On a shitty, cold, gray night, he had slept on the couch because he knew what was coming. He didn't cry often. Only when it got so bad – when his frustrations bubbled over and there was no hiding behind aggression or anger anymore. He'd been forced to confront his feelings of hopelessness, of doubt and fury.

Elliot had laid awake for hours. Everything was running through his head at once, yet he couldn't place a coherent thought. If he cried, all the words in his head would melt together and swallow him alive. His children were all asleep, his wife was too. The house was quiet. The only sound he could hear was the light buzzing of electricity and the ticking of the clock that hung in the dining room.

He had turned on the couch until he was facing the back cushions. His fingers ran clutched the pillow he held in his arms and he stared into the blue fabric of the couch until it turned red before him.

That's when the tears came.

_What happened in the basement?_

_Nothing._

His mind had gone to the worst places imaginable that night. At first, he saw flashes of her screaming for help but his mind quickly pushed it out. He couldn't picture her like that. His mind blocked it out – it refused to form the thoughts in his mind's eye.

His whole body convulsed with hot, guilty sobs. He was careful to be quiet, careful not to wake his family up. Soon enough he was gasping for breath and each sob that came from his throat was harder than the last. She had lied to him earlier that day and told him that nothing had happened. But he knew. He could hear it in her voice, he could see it in her expression.

If that hadn't given him enough of a clue, Fin's response to his questioning did.

_What happened at Sealview?_

_It's not my story to tell. If she wants to tell you she will. Give her time._

Olivia was still his partner. He trusted her judgment more than his own. There was never any doubt after twelve years. He could anticipate her movements and decisions. That's how he knew that she had lied that night. He'd taken her lie at face value and let it simmer in the air between them, hoping that she'd retract or add something to her statement.

She never did.

The tears had soaked into his t-shirt until the early morning light had come in the living room window. He couldn't sit up and pour a stiff drink to try and calm himself down. His ribs and stomach ached with the effort of his body shuttering.

Kathy and the kids had never seen him like that, and never would, so by 5 am when he knew that the baby would wake, he had gone into the shower. He let the water run over his back and pressed his hands into the tiles on the shower wall and dropped his head. His tear ducts had burned with the effort of pushing out the salty liquid after denying himself that right for so long.

It was only after he began picturing Harris strapped down on a metal table that his mind began to relax. He had sneered thinking of dragging a box cutter down the fuckers' thighs, over his calves – he wanted him to bleed just enough that he wouldn't die, but he'd be in immeasurable pain and on the cusp of passing out. Then he would slowly, methodically cut the tips of his fingers off, right to the first knuckle. Elliot's breathing calmed back to normal as he pictured the life leaving Harris' eyes, only after making him beg for death because it was less painful and gruesome than what he was being put through. It would only be after he could see there was no soul left in the man that he would give him the satisfaction of dying.

He knew that Olivia didn't tell him for a multitude of reasons and he hated that he couldn't be there for her, that she wouldn't let him into her head that night. She had wrongly assumed that if he knew the things that had happened in that prison that he wouldn't trust her impartiality or her ability to be his partner anymore. She had assumed that he would only see her as broken.

As if she were damaged goods.

The truth was that all of her assumptions were the farthest from the truth. She had obviously lived through something horrendous and like every other part of her life that she would rather forget, she took it in stride and worked through it on her own.

He had watched her for months afterward. Not waiting for her to break – but waiting for her to say anything to him. He watched her body shiver and her teeth chatter at crime scenes on hot summer nights, he had felt her too cold skin after an interrogation. Well over a decade of working in special victims told him what that meant.

She was afraid. He never wanted her to feel that again.

If he could take her pain away, he would have.

* * *

Her thoughts were on fifty things at once.

They had sat together without speaking for over an hour. Initially, it had irritated her, she couldn't concentrate on her work but eventually, they had fallen into a comfortable, easy silence. Her breath was no longer baited in waiting for him to say something to her. Elliot was deep in thought in front of her, an unreadable expression painted across his face. Maybe he had regrets. She didn't know. She had accepted that he had dropped the entire subject of their tension and the intimate moments they had shared.

It still clouded the forefront of her mind. Fourteen days they had been in Canada and within fifteen minutes of them arriving here, she had felt the undeniable pull of Elliot. She had come out to say goodnight and his gaze had lingered over her exposed skin and she began to drown in him. Her mind screamed at her to let him go, to push him away because he represented things that were strange and unknown within her that she wasn't ready to shed light on.

He was married.

He was _married._

She respected Kathy. Their relationship had always been uneasy; and she had shrugged off every narrowed glance that his wife had thrown off at her, every comment from people around them that they spent more time together as partners than he spent with his own spouse. When things had gotten too complicated and close to home, Olivia had even tried to leave him to save his marriage and to save Elliot from the way she would eventually, inevitably fuck it up.

Olivia had wanted to be the better woman. But after years and years of _almost but not quite,_ she just wanted to stop feeling guilty and start feeling _him._

She peered over her file at her partner. His eyes were transfixed on something on the wall, or perhaps nothing in particular; he seemed to be somewhere else completely. It was moments like this she wished that she could open up and ask him what was on his mind, but she knew that pained expression, she knew the things he was thinking about would be difficult if not impossible for him to speak about.

When he had first split with Kathy and began to spiral, she would often see those emotions carved into his skin. She would see the bruised knuckles and the unrepentant rage that had long waited beneath the surface, begging for a way out. That year he had gotten himself into the hot seat with Cragen more times than she could count and had stepped in for him and taken blow after blow off of her back in an attempt to shield him from the consequences.

That's what they always did for each other.

"That'll be Jacques," Elliot pulled her from her thoughts, looking toward the driveway in front of the cabin through the window. She stood up from the table and tugged at her sweater, trying to adjust it to a position that was comfortable for her injured shoulder. Her wound had mostly healed but was now at a stage of uncomfortable itchiness and she wholeheartedly was looking forward to the next few days when it would be completely healed over.

Elliot's eyes were locked on her expression and she could feel his concern. "It's fine," she assured him and walked to the door.

When she let Jacques in, he greeted her with the same warm smile he had presented to her in all of their previous meetings. His blond hair was shorter than she had seen it before and it was obvious he had gotten a fresh haircut – unlike his partner, JS, she could tell that Jacques cared about his appearance. They had gotten the impression from his partner that he valued his anonymity above everything and just wanted to blend in beyond a reasonable doubt. Jacques still blended in but looked a little more clean cut.

"I'm just here to give you guys an update," Jacques stayed standing as Olivia moved back to sit across from Elliot at the table. "I know we've been working on a profile of our perp and I have a theory on where he's going to hit next."

"Please, fill us in."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him and gestured for him to continue speaking. He moved over to the whiteboard beside the fireplace and wheeled it back to the dining room, taking a dry erase marker in his hand. "Victim number one through three were all from New York and were last seen in high traffic bars," he looked between Elliot and Olivia, pointing at the first three pictures on the board. "Victim four and five were taken from restaurants, and number six," he moved to the last photo and pointed to Theresa Edwards. "Number six was taken from an event at the Clayoquot Church."

"I think the perp is getting sloppy and desperate, he's taking these women in front of a room full of people and they never see him because he's not much to look at. There is only one big event this weekend, it's a fundraiser at the Community Hall. I say we go there and try to spot him."

Olivia shrugged and looked at Elliot, who mirrored her expression. "Couldn't hurt to at least try."

"Good, it's settled then. Tomorrow night at 6. It's the hall at the end of the highway, right here," Jacques circled a building on their map of the area. "Olivia, you'll have two dates, hope you don't mind."

She kept her expression guarded, smiling up at Jacques and laughing. The fear that she had felt back home was nowhere to be found – instead replaced with the overwhelming notion that whatever happened tomorrow night, she would be caught between Elliot and Jacques. A delicate power play had always existed between the men; Elliot was territorial with her, and Jacques was respectful of the boundaries she had set but still openly showed that he was intrigued by her.

She had a feeling that tomorrow would be the longest day of her life.


	8. Chapter 8

They had been given about half a day to prepare for the fundraiser.

She had gone into town on her own – much to the displeasure of Elliot – in search of something, anything to wear. When they had been told to pack and come to Tofino, she'd expected the cold and the rain and the late nights. No one had told her she would be expected to go to a semi-formal event, that she would need to look the part of a local, married woman out on the town for a night in support of a good cause.

Near the very tip of the island, there was a small local clothing store that ran along the edge of the only highway in town. _The Pacific Rim Highway,_ Jacques had told her. The idea of being so far from home, so removed from society still left her feeling unsettled, as if she were more vulnerable in a remote Canadian town than she ever had been in Manhattan.

Perhaps she was more vulnerable. An easier target for whoever they were chasing.

The circumstances in which they had been brought in aside, she had to admit the west coast agreed with her. The heat wasn't vicious as it was back home, instead it was gentle and light across her skin. She'd even managed to tan a shade or two darker in the past few days. The sun found her in the late afternoon when she sat on the deck and looked through case files. Elliot would sit with her but his skin hardly tanned as well as hers; his Irish heritage showing in the way his skin reddened before ever turning a darker shade of white.

Her hair fell in windswept curls across her collarbone and spilled down her back. She'd caught her reflection in the storefront and needed to look twice at herself. It wasn't as if she looked worse, nor better, just different. The horrors of the case settled in the small, dark circles underneath her eyes but the eyes themselves held wonderment and hope. She saw the shadow of what her life could be like if she never went back to New York. If she and Elliot stayed here forever, she would look like this.

Wild. Untamed. Much like the west coast itself.

The store itself wasn't much to speak of. The walls between the racks of clothing held paintings in styles she had only seen in Tofino. Long, sweeping lines surrounded circles and curves to make up notable animals from the area. Bears, whales, fish, birds adorned the paintings. Back home she wasn't the type to see art, to dissect it – but the shapes and faces captivated her mind. It gave her a sense of peace that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Most of the clothing was sewn by the owner herself, a young woman in her thirties. She created one of a kind pieces for her patrons. The dress she picked out was simple. The dark blue cuts deep down her back, leaving her without the ability to wear a bra. She's thankful for the tightness of the material in the front, the dip the dress takes between her breasts allows a tasteful view of her cleavage while still providing support. The bottom of the dress was cut higher in the front and lower in the back, and it flowed behind her when she crossed the room to gather more pins for her hair.

Olivia kept the curls. They were natural, she didn't need to touch them or manipulate them in any way when she let her hair drip dry from the shower. She twisted a few pieces back from her temples and pinned them into place. A few strands fell into her face but she allowed them to stay, to frame her cheekbones.

The image in the mirror was a soft glow of a woman.

The dress allowed her tanned skin to be the prominent feature of the entire ensemble. She focused on keeping her makeup lowkey for tonight. The locals she had seen in her limited time around Tofino allowed her to gauge how they dress, how they act. They didn't want to spook their suspect, and in her mind, he lurked in the shadows. Just outside of their peripheral vision.

Her gut told her he would strike again soon. Through the victims, through the diminutive evidence they'd managed to collect, she had gotten to know small pieces about their perp. Something about the way he seemed reckless – fearless – made her skin crawl. Whoever he was, he was well prepared, well-traveled, and quickly escalating.

_Ruthless._

She is safe here, in her makeshift panic room. There are no suspects, no cases. She's just a woman looking in the mirror, she's just _Olivia._ She doesn't let the fear bubble or rise. She is resilient. Her body possesses fear but she has courage pouring from every cell inside of her. Elliot is waiting in the living room for her, Jacques is going to meet them at the Community Hall.

Olivia slides the dark pink lip gloss over her bottom lip once more and places the tube in her small clutch that she bought along with the dress. She'd picked up a small, delicate whale tail necklace at the counter when she paid and decided to grab it as well. The shop owner had smiled at her.

" _Have you had a chance to see the whales yet?"_

_She was perplexed at how the woman knew she wasn't a local, but they all seemed to know too much in such a short span of time._

" _No," she'd said._ _"I've only seen them in pictures."_

_The young woman nodded and passed her the bag. "The Nuu-chah-nulth elders say they symbolize good luck if you see them just by looking out at the water," she explained._

" _Hope I get to see them soon then."_

* * *

He couldn't tell if he is underdressed or overdressed.

Olivia had come out of the bathroom and he had taken a single moment to look at her before turning his attention promptly to the fireplace. It sat empty, unburning; unlike his insides. He was on fire from that moment on. She had poured the gasoline over him and lit the match, and he had willingly stepped into the flame. He usually loved the way her heat burned him beyond recognition.

Elliot needs the fire to sear him and take the breath from his loathing lungs.

Back home he could predict Olivia. He could imagine the things she would wear, they would often unintentionally match because of it. Her color schemes became known to him, familiar. If they would dress up for work events or undercover operations, he'd still be able to predict her. In New York, she was untouchable in those outfits. She was fierce. She would hold herself in a way that was open and flirty, but still authoritative.

Tonight, she was a new woman standing in front of him. Long gone were the high heels and dresses that could hide her Glock. She was exquisite – small strappy sandals, a flowy dress, natural curls. He forces air through his throat, he needs to breathe and just exist for a moment longer.

He _wants her._

_Needs her._

It's a hopeless feeling. She's stunning and so goddamned beautiful he wants to drain any liquor insight. There is beer in the fridge and a bit of whiskey left that he could easily put back before they have to leave. He can hear the smirk on her lips, she mistakes his aversion to looking at her as respectfully trying to keep his hormones in check. It's partially true. More than anything he wants to skim his lips over her collarbone, down between the valley of her breasts. He wants to drag his fingers up her spine, he wants to know if she'll shiver, if she'll lean into him when he does it.

He needs to memorize her reactions, to carve each of her expressions into his mind.

When they got to the Community Hall, Olivia had brushed her hand under his arm and curled her fingers into his forearm. His white dress shirt was tucked into his blue jeans, but he was nothing walking next to her. The civilians that looked at them only glanced half-assed in his direction before their gaze landed on her, stayed on her. The possessiveness eats at him. She isn't his to want to shield from prying eyes.

He knows that all too well.

He held their arms close to his chest and she closed the distance between them without hesitation. They had pretended to be married a few times before, he could do this now. He needed to do this now. His leg grazed hers every once and a while as they walked into the fundraiser and the contact burns him gently.

He wanted to tell her all the things that reside inside of his mind.

But they don't talk.

Jacques met them inside with drinks and he was grateful for the beer that the younger man silently slid into his hand. The hall was small, capable of holding less than three-hundred people. But they had decorated it with streamers and homemade banners. It made him wish he had grown up somewhere smaller, somewhere without towering buildings and millions of unknown faces. Jacques seemed to know every person in the hall, even after only living here for a short time. He had taken them to a table and explained the fundraiser while Elliot brought the glass to his lips over and over.

_Courage._

Only half listening, he heard Jacques talking to Olivia animatedly, and by the third time she laughed at a joke he couldn't even comprehend through the loud thoughts in his mind, he had finished his beer. He filtered through the people gathered in the hall, looking for anyone that looked more out of place than he did.

Concentrating on the actual job at hand would be easier than anything else he would endure tonight. She has gotten the attention of nearly every man in the room and he smiles bitterly, wondering what they would think of how she dresses up when she's home in New York. They valued simplicity here; she was anything but.

He doesn't bother speaking tonight. Olivia gives him a few sideways glances as she continues chatting with Jacques throughout the course of the evening. An hour drags by and he watches the faces, looks for anything suspicious. The MC signals the end of the silent auction that they never bothered to participate in and people begin to filter onto the dance floor.

"Wanna dance?" Jacques accented voice drew him out of deep thought. He isn't speaking to Elliot, instead, he's offering his hand to Olivia and before he can protest, her hand fills his and they move in with the crowd.

_Fuck._

His throat is impossibly dry. He's on his fourth beer but no amount of liquid will quell the fire in his esophagus. This is his own personal hell, he's convinced – the devil himself has created this very scenario to torture him endlessly. The younger man's hand finds the bare skin of Olivia's back, his other hand is clasped in hers. She is facing away from him, he can openly look at them without guarding his expression. Jacques' cheek is pressed against hers and there is no space left between them, his chest has probably collided with her breasts and he wants to scream.

He's forgotten why the fuck they even came here. Their perp has left his mind, instead, his vision settles on her, closes in on her.

On him.

Fuck Jacques. Fuck this case. Fuck Canada. Fuck this stupid island. He wants to be in New York on some dirty street, he wants to be out catching bad guys, he wants to be beating a punching bag until it falls off the chains and crashes to the floor. His pulse pounds against his temples. Blood flows to his chest, the heat rises through his body. The fight in him is gone.

It's replaced with an ache so severe he wants to throw up.

He'd been so close to having her just a few days ago. His mouth had closed over hers for the second time and here she was now, wrapped in the arms of another man. There was no reprieve for him as Jacques curls their clasped hands inward, cradling her hand on his chest. He sways them gently, back and forth. He needs to switch his brain off. Focus on anything else. But he is hopelessly stuck here, frozen, watching her with him.

He wants to forget all of it.

Not just tonight. He wants to forget seeing her step out of the bathroom. He wants to forget kissing her, both times. She twirls in his arms until she is looking over Jacques' shoulder, directly at him. He wants to forget hugging her after Sonya had died.

His eyes burn into Olivia's now. Her mouth parts slightly, her eyebrows knit together while she tries to process what he is thinking, what his expression is telling her. Jacques is speaking to her and it's something Elliot can't quite hear, but he watches her laugh quietly without smiling.

_This is my wife, Olivia._

In his mind, he tosses the memory of holding her that night, his fingers laced with his. Her leopard print dress is gone, her silky hair and seductive makeup are too. He filters through the memories that stand out, willing them to leave his tattered mind.

_What about me?_

He was so, so close. It was all too complicated, he wasn't ready for her yet and she wasn't willing to risk their partnership. But they had chosen each other over the job again and again until he stood over Ryan's lifeless body, staring into the empty eyes of a child who had been taken from the world because of his own selfishness.

_Take a nap. I'll let you know how it turns out._

_Screw you._

The arguing has disappeared. There is no sleep deprivation, no pressure of a case closing in on them as the clock ticks down to nothing. Olivia no longer is woken by him in the cribs, he no longer takes just one extra moment to explore her relaxed, peaceful face before he wakes her.

_We don't get to pick the vic._

He's no longer comforting her or pulling her aside to tell her the true identity of their victim. She's swaying with Jacques in her grasp, she's letting him graze his fingers along her smooth back and he's desperate to see anything but her. Her brown eyes are still trained on him without wavering. She doesn't allow Jacques to spin her, instead they stay softly swaying. It must be so she can continue to torment him with those fucking eyes, he rationalizes. It must be.

He needs to forget, he needs to forget, he needs to forget.

His throat closes as Olivia's chin comes to rest on Jacques' shoulder and he's suddenly standing, fishing the keys to the SUV out of with a shaking hand. He places them next to her clutch on the now-abandoned table and despite the concerned look he's probably getting, he charges out of the hall.

He will find his way back to the cabin. It's only a few miles and he is more than capable of walking the distance with the pace he's created. He needs to run, to find some way to burn off the energy he is retaining by watching her in the grips of another man. His mind has been dangerously tortured tonight and every thought is completely incomprehensible to him.

_Elliot._

His name is called and he isn't sure if it's real or in his head, but he walks faster despite the uncertainty. He can't talk to her, not now. His throat is so unbelievably tight with emotion. There is no way for him to let go of her. She's got her claws in his back so deep, he'll never survive the removal.

Elliot disappears into the night, the moon shining over Tofino as his only source of light, of hope.

* * *

She waited another hour with Jacques before heading back to the cabin.

The young man hadn't offered any judgments or placed blame on why Elliot had left. He'd accepted her explanation that he couldn't deal with crowds and just needed a break. She would find him on her way home. She lied through her teeth because the truth was she had no idea where he had gone but she had every idea why he'd left.

Olivia stands in the cabin barefoot now with her cell phone in her hand. It had been useless the entire time they had been in Canada, the service was spotty and the roaming charges weren't covered by the NYPD. Tonight she holds it because there's something she needs to do. The courage hasn't quite found her yet because she needs to breathe, to relax.

She's looking out over the Pacific from the large bay window, and the moon is so bright she can see every shadow along the shore, every wave that ebbs and flows. It's so brilliant and captivating she just stays like this for a moment.

She hears the bathroom sink turn on again. It's the second time she's heard it in since she's come back from the community hall. Elliot had left the bathroom door open, it's the only light on in the entire cabin and illuminates the hall with the shape of him. She starts to turn towards the bathroom when movement in the water catches her eye.

Draped in moonlight, she watches as two whales surface less than a hundred feet from the shore. With the words that the store owner had shared with her earlier in the day, she walks to the bathroom, a sense of renewed faith brimming beneath her skin. Her pulse is steady – she is calm now, she needs to see this through.

When she pushes open the door he doesn't move. His white dress shirt hangs loosely from his broad shoulders and his bare chest comes into view when she crosses the threshold. His head raises slightly, he's looking at her from his peripheral vision as she whispers to him.

"Elliot."

His eyes drag up her abdomen, over the swell of her breasts and lands on her face.

"I wanted to dance with you tonight."

_She is safe here, in her makeshift panic room._


	9. Chapter 9

_I_ _t's been a long time running_   
_It's been a long time coming_   
_It's well worth the wait_

* * *

He lets the gravity of her words wash over him.

_I wanted to dance with you tonight._

His body is sluggish, he's moving in slow motion as she taps on her phone and music begins to softly play. She's setting the phone down on the bathroom counter before he's even able to stand up straight. He hears the subtle, almost strange voice and tone that could only be from the Tragically Hip. The song is old and plays on classic rock stations back home – he wonders if she'd just downloaded it for tonight, or if she's had it on her phone for a while.

He rolls his shoulders back slightly, pulling them back to alleviate the tinge of pain as he stands up straight. The walk home had been grueling for him – not physically – but rather the tension in his chest was so tight he could barely breathe, and the three miles between the community hall and their cabin was filled with him talking himself in and out of leaving the island completely.

He was still so unsure of his decision by the time she showed up.

Olivia closes in on him, her hand delicately stretches towards him. She's all browns and blues in front of him now, her dress pulling all of the breathtaking goldens from her eyes, her wavy hair curling around in different directions. He wants his hands there, in her hair. He wants to pull her into his body and crush his mouth over hers. He wants to tangle his fingers in the curls and hold her against him in every way imaginable.

He's ignored this ache for twelve years, a few more moments won't kill him.

Her hand is soft against the calloused surface of his palm. He grips her tentatively with his right hand, his left finds her waist and gently brings her closer. His throat tightens when his bare chest brushes the front of her dress, he is wholly unprepared for this moment. The distance between them closes further and her cheek knocks against his jaw and settles.

Elliot listens to the quiet sound of her shuttering breath and knows she is moved by this moment to. His left hand is discovering the delicious curve of her lower back, his fingers splay open as if he has the right to touch her like this. She's the most beautiful woman he's ever met and the most frustrating human he's ever encountered all in one.

Olivia is the first one to sway.

_Of course she is._

She leads only for a fraction of a moment until he comes to grips with his new reality. They move gently back and forth as the song builds up. His throat is unimaginably tight. The memories are beginning to come back to him in pieces and he remembers every time he's held her in his arms. None of them compare to now.

He feels the old part of his life ending while a new chapter begins.

His voice is lost, he's unable to tell her all the things he wants to share with her. He wants to tell her all the times he'd been so jealous and stupid, he wants to tell her all the times he'd made mistakes with her, all the times they fought with no traction because they were fighting their attraction, not a situation. The dress shirt dangles from his shoulders and he wants to laugh because he's half-dressed in a bathroom, dancing with Olivia in the most simple, incredible dress.

"El," she rasps.

The slow sway of their bodies doesn't stop when he pulls back just a few inches to look down at her. It's the way her eyes immediately travel to his mouth that startles him, jars him from his daze. He swallows thickly and nods at her. His eyes float over her skin and the nervous way her bottom lip quivers.

She pauses for the briefest of moments.

"Kiss me."

Her words stab him, wound him deeply. His forehead brushes against hers when he crooks his neck down to her. He can't breathe. She isn't breathing either, but they're both shaking and it gives him just an ounce of hope. He's in danger now and nothing can bring him back.

He's waited for days – and for years – for her to ask.

His eyes are watery and he wants to turn away from her and hide. Shield her from this part of himself that is ridiculously vulnerable and so, _so_ consumed by her. The soft tempo of the song is at its crux now, and his arm circles her waist, bringing her the last inches into him.

Elliot exhales his final breath.

His mouth closes over hers. He's making all of this right, he's erasing the lack of tenderness of their past kisses, he's taking away their past desperations. Her lips are fuller than he remembers, and she gasps just a little bit when he turns his head to the side, and his stubble scrapes over her soft skin. He needs this moment to stretch, to last for the entirety of his life. He can't let her go now, for the third time.

It'll kill him.

Her fingers, still woven with his, squeeze his hand. It's an invitation, a delicious permission to continue to kiss her. His heart is beating so harshly against every part of his body that he can't tell where his pounding blood ends and the shaking begins. He feels wetness on her cheek and he's not even sure if it's from himself or her, but his eyes remain closed as his lips move over hers again.

_Again._

Olivia hums – her tongue comes out to taste him. He drags his hand from her waist, his fingertips lazily moving up her spine, and he feels her shudder when it lands on the back of her neck. Her hair is utterly tempting and he can no longer deny himself. His fingers tangle in the locks and cradle the back of her head in his palm. She's taking everything he is giving to her, and she's giving it right back to him.

For every twist of his mouth over hers, she molds her body into his. The hand that isn't encased in his travels to his cheek and cups it. They kiss slowly, his body is screaming at him for some form of relief but he stays with her, tasting her over and over. Olivia's feet bump into his as she stumbles towards the sink with him, and then the edge of the sink hits the back of his thighs. He wants to laugh into her mouth at her forwardness, though it comes out as an encouraging groan.

"Sorry," she mumbles into his mouth.

His cheeks raise into a smile for a split second, then he's back on her, spinning her around. He lifts her onto the sink and he barely registers the sound of his aftershave falling in. There's no way to tell if it's broken, although he doesn't smell anything besides her intoxicating scent. She's vanilla and citrus and something he can't quite place.

He _loves her._

He's loved her for as long as he can remember. He tried to fight it – to push away his feelings for her. When things got difficult between them he thought that it was then that he realized he loved her. But it was much, much earlier. In the beginning of their partnership, he'd found himself staring at her when she was busy doing other things. If she caught him, she'd just smile and suspect nothing from him. There he was, within a year of their partnership beginning, standing on the street in front of her, realizing he was head over heels for her.

He swallows the need to tell her. Olivia will run if he tells her, and with good reason. He remembers the young detective that was all smirks and flirty comments in the beginning. It all became convoluted when months of being her partner spread into years and an easy, lighthearted friendship was eclipsed by his unabashed feelings towards her. The want to argue and bicker only came after he tried reconciling that this would never happen – he would never have her like this.

Yet here he is, well over a decade later, his mouth all over his stunning partner.

She spreads her thighs and he feels her dress ride up along her legs to allow him to settle between them. Olivia moans into him, her fingers push his shirt completely off his shoulders and he lets go of her momentarily in order to let the fabric fall to the floor behind him.

There is only silence between them now, the song has ended and nothing began to play afterward. The slick sound of their mouths melding together, her mewing noises are the singular sounds that echo on the wooden walls of the cabin. His need to taste her skin grows and he retracts his lips from hers, trailing his mouth over her cheek and down to her neck.

Olivia's hands roam his bare back, and his tongue slides along her delicate skin. He needs to memorize her as he hadn't before, he'd only selfishly taken what he'd needed in the heat of the moment. He has to remind himself he's here now with her, and there is only _her._ She is the most selfless person he knows, she deserves better. For now, he satisfies her.

It's the heartbreaking notion that drives him to reach for the door with his right hand. Even just a second without his hands on her, he needs her again. He's hauling her off the counter then, searing his mouth on hers while they stumble out into the hall. Her tongue is in his mouth as they cross the threshold into his room, and his left-hand finds the zipper in the low dip of her dress. He's got no room to breathe and he doesn't want to.

He's consumed by her.

The moonlight pours in through the large windows and provides just enough light for him to see her when he pulls back from her mouth, resting his forehead on Olivia's. Over her shoulder, he can see the ocean clearly. If anyone were to stand on the beach and look in at the cabin, they would only see the shadows of two lovers in the night with no discernable details. He can't be bothered with closing the door. It's too late for precautions, for grand gestures and thoughtfulness. Her hands leave his chest, and she drags the straps of her dress off her shoulders, letting the soft material gather around her hips.

"Jesus."

It's all he can manage to say. His throat is tightening again, and he looks down from her eyes to her supple breasts. He's not ready, he thinks. He will break and shatter if he touches her like this, so he kneels, dipping his thumbs into her dress. Elliot pulls the cotton over her hips and down to her ankles. His eyes are closed because they are _burning_ – he wants to open them and see her, feel her, and have this moment. He decides then, there's no turning back.

Tonight he will give in. Tomorrow will be different.

Elliot opens his eyes and watches patiently as she steps out of her dress. Her hands find his shoulders, and he discards her dress beside the bed. His fingers sweep up her calves and into the dip behind her knees. He presses his mouth along her thigh, slowly drifting up her body. Olivia's skin is warm beneath his touch, and her body jerk suddenly when his lips skim over her hipbone. All that's left on her is a thin pair of black lace panties. Her breathing is rapid above him – she's just as nervous as he is.

He's standing and bending then, his tongue dipping into her navel and up to her breasts. She's perfect in his hands, the weight of her. He covers her right nipple with his mouth, and he'd be a lying man if he said he hadn't thought about this – just this – nearly every day. His eyes catch the now-healed scar from her attack the week prior and he runs his fingers lightly over the red line. He'd almost lost her, it was _another_ close call, _another_ time he chose her. Olivia grabs his hand on top of her scar and holds it there, looking up at him. She straightens and captures his mouth with hers, taking away his temporary fear and anxiety. Her breathy moans are all he needs and he pushes her back onto the bed.

His own arousal is killing him. He has to put his own pleasure aside; because he's crawling over her, sucking her nipple into his mouth for the second time. She doesn't allow him to stay there for long because she pushes at his jeans.

"Take them off," she whispers.

He searches her eyes for any hints of fear of hesitation. She's breathing heavily but she's incredibly steady. Her confidence tears at him. He reluctantly withdraws from her and stands at the edge of the bed, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. His eyes are blazing on hers when he shoves his pants and boxers down over his hips. They drop to the floor and his length is finally free from the confines of the jeans, but it does nothing to alleviate his need for her.

Elliot watches her throat bob when she swallows thickly. He wants to smile, he wants to be arrogant and cocky and revel in how she takes in the look of him completely naked. She bites her lip and his stomach contracts in response.

She's so breathtaking it makes his head pound.

His body covers hers and he hooks his thumbs into her panties and pulls them off her. It's his turn to swallow then, she's so bare he can't think at all. She takes advantage of his stillness and tips him over onto his back. Olivia's core brushes against him and he lets go of a guttural moan, but he sits up and kisses her once more.

It's the way that they rock and work together that he knows. Whatever happens from tonight onward, they are in this as partners, as they've always been. He wills his eyes to open to her when he feels her hips lift over him. He has to know the look on her face now, as her velvet heat slides onto him for the first time. Olivia's pelvis meets his and they both pause, just breathing.

He's deep inside of _her._

His arms curl around her body and he holds her against him but doesn't move his lower half. He's waiting until she's ready. She needs time to adjust – he feels her stretching around him, her impossible tightness is something he can't think about. He's got to feel her like this, with her breasts and peaked nipples scraping into his chest. His own release has to take a back seat to hers.

Olivia's mouth moves through the short crop of his hair and kisses along his temple. She stops just before his ear and swivels her hips, and the moan she breathes into him makes his eyes roll back. She's unbearably wet on him, her heat is ripping him limb from limb. They make love slowly, her body swirls in tandem with his raising pelvic bone.

He takes in every sound that comes from her lips. Each delicious pant and moan only surges his body further, and he holds her waist, rocking into her gently. They're wrapped around each other in every way possible and he has to stay this way. He doesn't want to ever leave this bed with her. She takes his right hand and laces her fingers with his, squeezing his hand with every movement of her on him.

The outside world melts away into nothingness. Elliot coils his left hand into her hair, urging her mouth to his. Her breaths are coming in short spurts and he drives upward over and over again. He feels her clench around him and he drags his lips away from hers, watching as her mouth comes open. She tumbles over the edge with a curse. Her eyes widen but darken and it's her intensity and the pleasure she gives him that sends him over with her.

"Liv," he groans, his cock thickening inside of her. Her almost black eyes are all he sees before his orgasm overtakes him and he's spilling into Olivia seemingly endlessly. She cries out, the feeling of her pulsing core and his twitching member creating a paradox of pleasure within both of them.

They stay like that until his strength threatens to falter beneath her, so he brings them down onto the bed. With a low moan, Elliot falls out of her slick heat. She allows her left leg to settle between his thighs and her hair brushes his mouth when she tips her forehead onto his chest.

Her hand slides up his stomach while he tries to calm his racing heart. But she's in his arms now, she's safe, she's _his._ Even if it's just for tonight. He presses his mouth to the top of her head and she shifts, turning to kiss him again. The horrors of tomorrow can wait – the guilt and heartache will be dealt with at a later time.

He loves her _so much._

It's the last thought that crosses his mind before he falls into peaceful, dreamless sleep with her head on his chest and his hand on top of hers.


	10. Chapter 10

Her guilt echoes in the confines of his bedroom.

They hadn't been inebriated – no, she's sure of that – but every moment of last night passes through her in flashes.

_Kiss me._

God, she'd been fighting for so long. Just once she wanted to give in, to just be a woman. For one night. She just wanted them to have a single night without guilt or shame or any of their responsibilities. Elliot had kissed her twice before last night and every time her heart would scream at her _don't push him away, let it happen, let it happen,_ yet her mind was the one driving her hands into his chest, telling him they couldn't do this. They shouldn't do this. They shouldn't, but they _did._

She lays in his bed naked. He's probably naked too, she thinks. She can hear the sound of him in the kitchen, and water pouring into a glass. His footsteps leaving the bedroom just a minute ago had woken her. She wasn't used to sleeping next to someone, yet the moment he left she'd felt the cooling sheets and the sharp stab of need.

They'd barely spoken after he started kissing her last night. All she remembers are his lips and tongue, her movements and his moaning. It's loud, impossibly loud in her ears. What's even louder is the guilt that sears through her skin. She'd slept with her partner, her _married partner._ It wasn't what was eating at her though. She wanted more.

That's what was killing her.

Olivia had lied to herself more than enough but perhaps the biggest lie of all was that she could have him just once and it would satisfy her. She would feel him move inside of her and she would accept it, process it, and compartmentalize it when they were finished. She would go back to being his loyal, faithful partner and they could move on and pretend like her world didn't shift on its axis the second he had taken off her dress.

She throws the cover off of her body and sits up, gripping the edge of the mattress. The sun is only beginning to brim over the horizon and the little light that comes through is hitting her skin and making her feel warm, and she rubs her dangling feet before standing up. She feels him then, between her legs. He's big and thick inside of her and she wonders if the feeling of him will ever leave her, or if she'll always feel the pulsation of him.

He was gentle and measured with her last night. Elliot had taken his time, attending to her body, her pleasure – it shattered every memory she'd had with previous lovers. He was there for her in a way no other man had ever been.

Olivia's feet pad against the floorboards softly as she walks out to the bathroom. She picks up the dress shirt she had pulled from his shoulders the night before and puts it on, leaving it unbuttoned. The white fabric falls between her breasts but she doesn't look in the mirror at herself. The light in the bathroom is off, and there's still a bit of time before the sun will touch all corners of the cabin. Her thighs are barely covered by his shirt while she walks into the kitchen.

She feels her arousal stirring just at the sight of him. He's standing next to the sink with his glass in one hand, the other braced on the counter. He doesn't move when he sees her and she wants to smile at how comfortable he is without clothes on. His eyes are focused on his water, and she stops behind the solid wall of his back. She's so close she can feel the heat coming off of his skin, and she knows he can feel her breath on his neck. Her forehead drops, landing gently between his shoulder blades.

_The morning isn't here yet._

She's loved every sunrise that has come while they've been on the island. Some of them have been marred in her mind by the case and the empty faces of the victims they have come across, but the sun still rises. Today she wants the sun to stay down for just a moment longer. She needs more time with him before things change more than they already have.

She doesn't want to talk.

"Liv."

It's the guttural way that he says her name that she knows he's there with her. He doesn't want the sun to rise either. Her mouth touches his back, her lips press into his skin and he exhales harshly as if the contact is tearing at his resolve. She slides her fingers over his hip, they find the dusting of hair at the bottom of his stomach and so quickly, he clenches his abs in response.

He turns around to look down at her. She fights with herself not to look down at his naked body, but it doesn't matter. He's grabbing her and picking her up, and she's wrapping legs and her soul around him. Her mouth possessively covers his as he walks back to his room with her in his arms.

Her guilt can wait until later.

* * *

His mind tries, and tries again, to wrap around what is happening.

Perhaps it's some semblance of self-perseveration that allows his mind to not fully come to terms with his current situation, because if it did, surely, he would lose all the sanity he had left.

Her hair is spread across his pillow and his shirt has come off of her shoulders and settles around her elbows. He had brought her back into his room with her legs around his waist and tossed her gently onto the bed. His lips and tongue had pressed and tasted and memorized her skin. Now he explores every inch of Olivia that she allows him to have.

He could spend a thousand lifetimes with his head buried between her thighs. Above him, she bites into her index finger and turns her gaze to the right side of his bedroom. A blush creeps up her cheeks as his tongue prods her delicate flesh and she is arching for him, her back bowing in response to his ministrations.

"El," she whispers to him, and her voice saying his name like that only makes him impossibly harder. Her hand circles his wrist, pulling his fingers away from the perfect dip in her hip. She locks her fingers with his, and her hand squeezing his forces his eyes to search for hers. The intimacy of the action isn't lost on him; it makes his heart soar for her.

With her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her wavy hair messed up – he sees everything that he's wanted with her. It's a culmination of stakeouts and paperwork and shitty coffee; it's wanting to stay with her until he's grey and old and wanting to coax every sound and shudder from her body. She's stunning and maddening, she fights him at every turn and he's hopelessly, recklessly in love with her.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs between her thighs.

Her free hand grabs at the sheets beneath her, and his tongue slips over her clit again. The taste of her makes him groan, and he smiles into her when the vibrations he produces makes her legs shake.

They are beyond saving now.

It's the realization that he doesn't want to be saved, he doesn't need salvation. He just needs this moment, to pause time for themselves to have this. Years and years of yearning and desire and denial, and they just need this moment. One, perfect moment together.

"Fuck yes," he hears her moan.

He loses track of time, of reality. He willingly gives himself to her. Time stands still and he's on top of her, driving into her and listening to every rising breath and desperate moan. He feels her clenching on him again and again but he holds on because he needs every moment that he can have before the sun rises. Her hands are on his face and he's kissing her swollen mouth and leaving marks that he has no right to leave across her skin.

Elliot grunts her name when he comes, his lips press into her temple and her short fingernails dig into his back. He pants onto her clammy skin but he doesn't drop his weight onto her yet. He kisses and suckles her skin, his cock is still buried inside of her although they are both sated now. She's doing the same thing, kissing his shoulder, his arm, any skin she can touch.

If they have only now, they need to make the most of it.

Time is running out.

* * *

The group of cabins disappears in his rear-view mirror.

He licks his dry lips and smiles to himself. Every piece of his plan has fallen perfectly in place. Every interaction he had with them had been carefully planned and executed. Most of the time he had seen them, they hadn't had any idea he was there. No, if they would've, they probably would've stopped what they were doing.

That's not what he wanted.

It had only taken them two weeks to fall into bed together. He had to admit, he was surprised – he figured that they had been fucking long before they had crossed the border into Canada. But he is observant, and he sees these things. He saw the hesitation and newness of everything that was happening between them. He saw how they were in New York, and even back then, he had moved the puzzle pieces in certain directions to draw them out. He knew Captain Cragen would send them after they'd failed to find him before.

_And they'll fail for a second time._

With the Pacific Rim Highway blurred as his foot presses harder into the gas pedal, he cranks the radio in his late nineties Ford Explorer. He will not have mercy or give any reprieve tonight. _No,_ he thinks. They aren't even trying to find him now. Stabler won't find out his identity between the legs of his partner.

So, he carries on. It's almost getting too easy. Each time he finds where they are and what they're doing with less and less effort. They're predictable, they're helpless and defenseless. A laugh bubbles up from his belly because he's going to turn their lives upside down again.

_How many times is that now?_

A scream interrupts his otherwise peaceful thoughts. He rolls his eyes because just like the detectives, his newest victim is predictable. The woman bound and gagged in the back of his SUV thrashes in the tarp he'd laid out in the back before he shoved her in there.

" _Shut up, bitch."_ He always tells them the same thing. No one is coming to save them. He smiles again because he knows that despite how everything has become so routine for him, he's going to change things up tonight.

They had wronged him, just like the detectives did. He pulls into his driveway at the tip of the island. He's about a mile off of the road and he has no neighbors, only empty, echoing forests surrounding his small house. When he parks, the woman in the back only screams louder but he doesn't bother silencing her this time. He wants her to scream and be helpless, it will help with the video he's about to create.

_They'll see._

He replaces the SD card in his camera with a fresh one from his glove box. There is a multitude of fresh and used ones in there, he marks the ones he's used with a marker. His surveillance skills have only improved with time. This is the second time that he's made a video today, and this one will be much better than the one he took earlier.

He'd taken his camera out outside of their cabin, at first snapping a few incriminating photographs just for his own memory. Then he'd seen them emerge from the bathroom, and he stayed low, crouching down on the porch at the edge of the bay window. They hadn't bothered to pull the curtain – they _wanted_ him to look. Why else would they leave it open? They didn't care, but they were about to when they discovered that he had seen them in such a compromising position. He had been kissing her and her hands had been all over him.

_Sinners._

He rounds the corner of his SUV now and pulls open the hatchback door, grinning down at the fearful eyes of the woman he's about to kill. She shrieks loudly but the dense forest quickly swallows the sound. He yanks her out of the vehicle and throws her to the ground at his feet.

" _Smile for the camera. We're going to make a little movie for our good friends, Elliot and Olivia."_


	11. Chapter 11

When the water slips down her spine and along the backs of her thighs, she hears it.

Her senses have always been sharp. Here, surrounded by dense forests and moss, they seem to be sharper. New York has always been home, but the island holds something that she can't quite describe. It puts her at ease, yet she feels stronger than she's ever felt before. The second that the door handle begins to turn, she knows it's him.

She doesn't move.

Olivia faces the showerhead, bracing one hand on the shower wall, and the other moves through her wet hair. She's already been in here long enough that her hair is clean, and the smell of mandarins fill her nose from her body wash. The hot water never seems to end and she relishes in the feeling, the nearly scalding temperature soothes her.

She's clean but the scent of him lingers.

They had danced in the same room she currently occupies. She shouldn't be thinking of him and relishing the night they shared together but she is only human. Privately, she will remember. Publicly would have to be a different deal altogether, especially once they were back in New York. A small, growing part of her dreams of just staying on the island and never leaving. The simplicity here would surely bore her. The lack of options for resources here would drive her insane.

Yet she craves the solitude, the peace of the wild nature that surrounds the cabin. West Coast rain soaks her more than New York did and she wants to get lost in it. Everything about Tofino differs from home.

The shower door opens and she turns her head just enough to peek out from beneath her wet lashes at him. His eyes are soft this morning and his presence is so, so warm. Water sprays him gently, splashing off of her body onto his chest and his face.

"Liv," he starts, but she drops her head and her gaze away from him. She can't handle the conversation they're about to have, she wants to live in denial because it feels good, it protects her heart and her soul and her partnership.

"I can't, El." She whispers to the drain. Today she wants to be in the water, to slither away from reality and end up somewhere far away.

"Look at me," Elliot grates, stepping closer to her. But she can't, she won't. Her body stays still, despite the slight tremble that lingers in her fingertips. Slowly, she crosses her arms over her chest and leans forward, resting her forehead against the tile wall. She breathes only because she has to, and her skin begins to cool from not being covered in the water anymore.

Seconds pass, and he seems to accept her refusal. He takes her spot in the direct spray, and her ears thrum with the sound of the water coming off of his strong body. The moment is fleeting and his impatient, thick arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back into his chest.

"I saw whales near the shore last night," his voice is soft in her ear as he brushes her hair to the side. It's his attempt to soften the blow, she assumes. Or maybe this is the beginning of the awkward small talk that comes with a one-night stand. She's not sure.

She stays holding herself. She can't get wrapped up in this again.

"I saw them too," she whispers, barely audible. His hands are on her hips and although it's intimate, he doesn't pull her back into his lower half. He keeps her just far enough away as if to send some message that he's thinking clearly, not just through the haze of his arousal.

"I don't regret anything," his tone changes, reflecting his seriousness. "Nothing has to change."

She wonders if he will ever know the way she loves him. If he will ever know the swelling of her heart for him and the way she draws in a secret breath of hope with each new day she spends here. She's so very strong, and all at the same time, so very vulnerable to him.

She knows then that he's dancing the same waltz of denial. They have to protect each other, they have to protect themselves. Olivia inhales and exhales, letting all the air deflate from her lungs until it burns and she sucks in air to relieve the pressure. She repeats it twice more before speaking.

"Just while we're here, El," she offers. "When we go back to-"

"I know," he assures her, resting his mouth on her wet temple.

_I know._

Every day she spends on the island, she falls more in love with it. Although they're here chasing a killer, she finds solace in the smell of the ocean, the crisp mornings, and warm afternoons. There is no swirling, sweltering heat that makes her sticky, and wants to run from the heat of the day into buildings and police vehicles. Here, the locals don't even bother with air conditioning. The weather is never severe in any way.

When Elliot reaches for her this time, she relaxes into him. His fingers tug at her chin, urging her mouth onto his. The water that drips from their faces wets their lips as he kisses her, and she lets the war rage on outside their cabin. She has to be present and live in the moment. If she keeps looking ahead and planning and trying to rationalize, she will lose this feeling faster than it arrived.

Her hand closes around his soap and she turns in his arms, gliding the bar over his shoulders, down his chest. He touches her but she can't allow herself to be distracted by his nimble fingers on her breasts. Instead, she chooses to focus on the scars across his torso. Elliot is marred but flawless, every scar is a road map of their journey as partners. His body screams danger to her mind, but she leans into it because his eyes are something else entirely.

"Got lots of time, Liv." He breathes between kisses. "Three weeks."

 _Yeah,_ she thinks. _Three weeks to fit in twelve years._

* * *

For a single moment, he thinks about keeping what he found on the porch from her.

But she heard the way his breath caught in his throat, and she saw the way he stilled just a moment ago when he opened the door. The brown paper bag in his hands is labeled in large, hard lines of permanent marker.

_For Elliot and Olivia._

Jacques would have knocked, he would have come in if only to speak with Olivia. He had seen the younger man's writing all over the case files as well, and his penmanship was nothing like the one on the bag. Jacques is their only real contact from Canada, the rest of the RCMP filter through him.

No one else should know who they are.

Elliot closes the door and locks it, before walking across the room and gently prying open the bag, spilling the contents onto the kitchen table. A single CD in a plastic case clatters onto the wood. No name or calling card.

"What is it?"

 _Play me_ is written across the top of the CD.

"Whatever it is, I doubt it's good."

His heart hammers in his chest and suspicion crawls up his spine. Olivia takes the disk and moves in front of the DVD player and television, opening the case and placing it in the device. He brings the TV to life and presses play after a moment's hesitation.

There's no sound on the video. The person who sent it to them was smart about this. No traceable noises or discernable sounds coming from anywhere near the camera.

The visual, however, makes them both hold their breaths.

On the television, Olivia is seen coming out of the bathroom first. Close behind her is Elliot, who tugs her backward onto his mouth. The video was taken from a vantage point that only allowed him to see the bedroom doors, the video taker wasn't inside the cabin. A second of relief is quickly washed away as the video zooms in, and Elliot is taking off Olivia's dress. The camera shakes a little bit as the person behind the video moves, attempting to see further into Elliot's bedroom.

They can't take their eyes off of the screen – their most intimate moments were captured on film.

The video cuts suddenly, and the image they see is much, much worse. The sound of a woman's cries echoes through the cabin. On the forest floor, the young woman struggles against the man holding her down with his foot as he videotapes her. He stomps her once, twice, and Olivia winces in the corner of Elliot's eye and places a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Elliot… Olivia…" The cameraman's low, dark voice calls out to them. "You're looking in all the wrong places. You could have saved her. Now she's going to die." The woman screams loudly in the background, but the tape covering her mouth muffles her cries. "Maybe I'll have to hit closer to home for you two to get motivated. Good luck, Detectives."

The tape ends.

Silence fills the cabin as fear creeps up Elliot's spine.

_Maybe I'll have to hit closer to home for you two to get motivated._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to get caught up with uploading this fic on AO3. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

_The heart of a man is_

_very much like the sea,_

_It has its storms, it_

_has its tides_

_and in its depths it_

_has its pearls too._

_-Vincent Van Gogh_

There have been few instances of peace in his entire life.

As a child, there was never silence. Between his mother's illness, his siblings, his incorrigible father. Only when sleep found him did he feel sleep, and even then he was in a far land of dreams and impossible notions.

The transition from a teen to a man, a husband, a father, was all too seamless.

On the night they first brought Maureen home, he felt peace for the first time. His wife slept while he simply sat with his child in arms, rocking her gently. There was such little noise, only the sound of his beating heart and the soft sighs that came from his content daughter filled the tiny room.

Since then, his home has echoed with the sounds of his family.

His eyes drift open and he is wide awake next to Olivia. Chestnut hair fans out across the pillow and in the early morning light, he sees her silhouette. She's on her side breathing deeply, her shoulders moving ever so slightly with every sigh of her exhale and inhale.

Elliot is close to her. Close enough he feels the heat coming from her body beneath the blankets, close enough he can see the raised skin of the scar on her shoulder, even facing away from him. His palm comes to rest on her waist and his fingers touch her warm skin where her tank top has risen during her sleep.

_This is love._

Loving Olivia for all these years hasn't come without its hardships. Here and now, however – he can't decide if loving her this way is harder or easier. The physical manifestation of their love for one another is now out in the open. It feels right, it feels natural. Something about that simple fact is incomprehensible.

It's hard for him to swallow that all these years he's felt like he's cheating.

He's always felt like he's cheating. Not on Kathy.

On Olivia.

He's broken his marriage vows. He's a cheater, he's an adulterer. The woman he loves sleeps next to him and it's all that consumes his mind. Her curves, her eyes, her voice. There were times in their partnership he was sure she would leave him again. Times he thought he would never see her again.

Yet, as she sighs next to him, his heart is content.

Olivia turns over towards him and his hand slips from her skin. Her eyes slowly blink open, she must sense he's no longer asleep. Whatever had woken him up just a few minutes ago, whether it was the rigidity of his habits back home or a bump in the night, he's grateful. Every stolen moment with her leaves him breathless.

"Why are you awake?" She mumbles sleepily.

Elliot shrugs his reply because truthfully, he doesn't know why. Maybe it was God telling him to wake up and watch the beautiful woman next to him sleep, to take in every moment he has with her like this. If there's a clock on this, he needs to cherish every moment he's got with Olivia.

His eyes dip to where the white lace of her tank top ends. Normally he wouldn't allow his gaze to linger for too long but now he looks. The lines are blurred and almost non-existent with them, so he looks. He hears the sound of her swallowing and then she's sitting up, pulling back the covers enough to free her legs.

Olivia straddles him. Her heat is all over him – the allure of her nearly swallowing him whole. His heart pounds for her. Twelve years of love should have prepared him for this yet he is consumed by her.

Her hands splay over his chest as she bends to him. There is no hesitation left; she takes what she seeks, and he willingly gives it to her. She presses her mouth to his purposefully, conveying her need and desire all in one kiss. He wants to tell her that he's never loved anyone as he loves her. But she will run from it, so he stays quiet and leans into her mouth, trapping her bottom lip gently between his teeth.

Olivia shifts on top of him, resting her weight on her knees as she pulls the straps of her top off her shoulders. They fall down her triceps and she pauses, pulling back from him enough to look at her. His eyes find hers in the dim morning light. She's biting her lip and grinning, and his stomach contracts because a woman that beautiful smiling the way she is can only lead to trouble. It's a road he wants to follow, so he hooks a finger in the front of her shirt and brings it down, down – until it's gathered around her hips. Her breasts are heavy and full in his hands, and she shivers when his thumbs brush over her hardened nipples.

He's never been with someone like this. Every touch and kiss holds something within it, and he can't take a single moment for granted with her. His throat is dry but she kisses him slowly, and while the rest of the cabin is silent, his tongue slips between her lips and into the hot cavern of her mouth. Olivia rocks her hips back and forth, and he can't help the way his own hips rise to meet hers.

"I want," she starts breathlessly, speaking into his mouth. Elliot opens his eyes to search hers, and his heart races at the nervousness he finds there. His eyesight isn't great in the dark, though he is able to see how dark her onyx eyes are in the moment. She's biting her lip again but she shakes her head and bends, lowering her way down his body.

She kisses down his chest and he realizes her intention. His hands find her upper arms in the dark, gripping her in a silent plea. "Liv, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he hears her say as her index finger smooths over his lips.

Suddenly they are indestructible.

* * *

She exhales the panic that had originally risen within her.

Slowly she inhales the trust she shares with Elliot.

Her back arches downward as she drags his boxers off of him. Each breath she takes is measured, she holds it for three seconds. There's no panic left in her – all that's left is desire. She's crouched over him on her knees.

Nearly two years have passed since Sealview. She hasn't done this in over two years.

_This is Elliot,_ she reminds herself. He leans up on one elbow to look down at her, and he's smiling. It's not a smile of pity or resignation. He's genuinely happy here with her, his guard is down and hers ought to be as well.

When she speaks, she's more breathless than she thinks she should be. "Just stay still."

Elliot nods and lays back, splaying his fingers flat on the crisp white sheets. Her left hand holds his hip, and he's so solid beneath her. She circles around his length with her fingertips, her touch is so light that he shivers and apologizes. They laugh nervously together and she descends, running her tongue along the underside of him.

The laughter dies in the air between them. He's gasping and gripping the sheets, trying his best not to squirm underneath her touch. Her mouth covers him, swallows him. She's adrift in the ocean of Elliot with no end in sight, no land to save her from falling deeper in love. The men that have come before him fade away.

She's present and safe with him.

Olivia's tongue swirls around the tip of him. He's warm in her hand, in her mouth. She settles and takes him in fully, letting him touch the back of her throat before slowly coming back up. His chest rises and falls rhythmically – she sees the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his eyebrows drawing closer. Elliot is struggling to contain himself.

"Liv," he groans, pulling tighter at the cotton beneath his fingers. Arousal surges through her body now. It ravages her hungrily, seeing him so quickly losing control just from her ministrations on him. Her nose brushes the light dusting of hair on his lower abdomen while she hollows her cheeks out.

She's come to know the noises he makes. It's the higher pitch of gasp that lets her know to have mercy on him in this moment. With one last swipe of her mouth on him, she allows his length to fall from her lips and she crawls back up his body.

Elliot rolls their bodies until the blessed heat of him is on top of her. His mouth finds her neck in the soft, early morning light. There are only a few hours of darkness on the island, and they have come to an end. It's probably only three o'clock and she will never tire of the way the sun spills over the mountains and into the cabin.

"Thank you," Olivia murmurs into his ear. He doesn't understand what that meant to her. Maybe one day she'll tell him. It's not a thought that is particularly pressing to her now, not with him nestled between her thighs.

His mouth lands just under her ear, and the effect ricochets down her body. Her toes curl as his hand slips beneath the waistband of her panties. "For what?"

Elliot looks down at her, his blue eyes shining despite the low light. He cradles her, his free hand finds the back of her head and tangles in the unruly waves of her hair.

"For being my safety net."

* * *

The earth is soft and forgiving beneath her feet.

It's unbelievably soggy outside the cabin as she paces back and forth. The moss silences her movements, though it does nothing to quiet the way Elliot looks at her. He's always had a protective edge with her, but now it's more intense. For every step she takes, she sees his internal battle. She hears his voice in her head, telling her to lay low, not move too much. They aren't sure who is watching them, why, or for how long.

"It's gotta be this window, El," she gestures to the large clear glass. It's the best vantage point for whoever took the video of them and it has a clear shot of the bathroom and Elliot's bedroom.

Elliot hums in agreement. She pulls her jacket into herself just a little tight at that. They've had their fair share of suspects take a shot at them or have a vendetta, but this is beyond personal for them. The videotape is inside on the table mocking their inability to find the perp, but she's wracked her brain a hundred times trying to think of who it could be.

"Maybe we should tell Jacques," she hears him mumble as he absentmindedly kicks at the mossy earth.

Her mouth drops open and her eyebrows raise in shock. After all of the resistance that he's put up with Jacques, she's surprised as hell that he's suggesting what she thinks he is. "And show him the-"

Elliot raises his hands in defeat. "What other choice do we have?" His hand scrubs down his face, and for the first time, she sees a sliver of panic in his eyes. She more than understands. They're sitting ducks at this point – just waiting for their perp to come out of hiding and get them.

"Maybe there's a way we can show him and have it stop there."

The safety she had felt earlier this morning begins to slip out from beneath her. She will call Jacques in a few minutes and she hopes – for both of their sakes – that he takes the information she gives him at face value and is willing to take this as rogue as they are.

Across town, on the shores of Chesterman Beach, the body of a young local woman is discovered. A man shows up to work for the last time – greeting his coworker in French and handing him a coffee. It's their morning routine, and unknown to them, it's the last time they will share coffee together.

The man scratches at his growing beard, while another man seizes an opportunity to prematurely end a life.


End file.
